To The Manner Born
by PlumCrazyPurple
Summary: What is an Irish princess to do when promised to a Viking warrior? Allana Conaill niece to King Ecbert is married off after her father is crowned as a pagan King. A story of love, lies and a hunger for power. Who will prevail?
1. Prologue

************* ATTENTION- please read this authors note***************

**To anyone just starting to read this story I'd like to apologize and let you know that I'd you haven't watched season three some of what follows may confuse you, my original plan was to follow season 3 and still is, I did this knowing there would be bumps along my way. I chose not to go into detail and make you all read what was on the television just a few weeks ago. There are some instances where the accounting is first hand but most of them have been displayed in flashback through various cannon characters, that will play a part later on,in some instances I now realize I may have been too vague. So my first three chapters became more of highlight reel of the first few episodes as I tried to get a grasp on how exactly this story would work.I plan to do some work on those first few chapters. And I have changed the first three chapters, at least for now into a three part prologue.**

**6/11/2015**

So this story has been in the back of my mind for awhile or at least a form of it has and a friend encouraged me to get it out there so here you go! Hope you all enjoy!

Disclaimer- I don't own Viking's just my OC and her story!

and a special thanks to the one who helped me out and betad this story tonight, thanks so much and I can't even imagine what time what ungodly hour of the morning this must have been for you! You rock my friend!

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Allana sat in front of her window, her gaze traveling over her pale reflection in the wavy glass panes before her. Her dark blue eyes drifted over the distorted image of herself looking back at her as her young maid went about the work of plaiting her long dark hair. This chore took much longer now than it ever used to, the hair was intricately woven into its plait only after the delicate circlet of smithed silver was placed upon her head. Carved with images of knot-work this band was a marc of who she was; a sign of her noble birth. The weight of the silver was familiar to her as was the coolness it carried till it soaked up the warmth of her skin. As she sat there and waited for her maid to finish so she could go on her morning ride, her mind wandered.

In the two months since Allana had come to Wessex she'd learned to hate it. Hate may be too strong of a word to describe the way she felt about her knew home, but at times it chafed at her. Part of her longed for the wildness of her baile, but there was always another part of her there to remind herself no matter how much she longed to go home, it wasn't the same. Pulling herself away from the pang of heart sickness, thoughts of home made her feel, she reached out with both hands. She brushed over the soft red linen covering her lap, as if the act of brushing the wrinkles in the fine material away, would make all unwanted feeling's and memories fade also. But it didn't work and soon her stubborn mind returned to thoughts of the juxtaposition between her new life and the old.

She only met her uncle once prior to her fathers death. That first meeting had taken place years ago, it was the only time before the death of her father that she'd ever seen her uncle and cousin. Her Mother passed. Her uncle had crossed the turbulent waters of Irish Sea to pay his last respects to his half sister Elspeth and Allana's memory of him had been of his eyes, kind, if somewhat sad. Her cousin, his memory had always stayed more vivid, tyrannical and authoritarian even at the age of nine. He was a year older than Allana and already a King in the making. He laughed and sneered at a King living in a hut as he called it, Allana still didn't think he was being intentionally cruel, just acting the title lord that he was, but nonetheless it hurt. Her home was far from a hut but since she'd arrived she'd noticed the difference and understood the comment. The villa of King Ecbert was a large, fine structure built of thick cut stone, with its own bath, naked statues and brilliantly painted murals. Her own land had some places such as this, but none she'd seen this grand. The English chose to believe the statues and painting where a product of a race of giants who once inhabited the land, Allana like her uncle, knew these things were left by the Romans long ago.

Her own home, while large had been built of simple field stone and wood. Her father was a northern King so she'd grown up far further north than any Roman villa.

She'd found her cousin much changed from the child she remembered, a man grown with a princess bride of his own. The years had taken away his tyrannical nature, gave him the true makings of a king and the ability to distinguish appropriate comments from cruelness, but he still held that faint glimmer in his eyes that said he felt himself above his poor Irish cousin no matter that she, herself was a princess.

Her uncle, for his part appeared to be the same kind eyed man she'd met as a child. He spoke to her about her mother quite oftenly when she was a child and of the things they'd done together. But even with him the shadow that had followed her since her fathers death hung unspoken and heavy between them. Her father was Christain, as Christian as King Ecbert himself, though not born to it and in the end his mind had started to wander slowly, fading away. Most days he didn't even recognize Allana herself, he seemed to travel back to his childhood. Then the worst came: he'd reverted back to rituals and prayers he'd long since left behind. Even before his death rumor had decided to ignore fact, Allana's father had been a most devout man and his mind had left him, saying simply that he'd never truly converted to Christianity.

The scandal had nearly reached such magnitude that her people wouldn't allow him to be buried on consecrated ground. Even some of his most loyal advisors had questioned the transformation and believed he must have always practiced pagan rites in secret. In the end, the priest that had ministered to Allana's family her entire life deemed him Christain and buried him as such, but the damage had been done and now all that was left was for it to follow her to England. Thankfully, her maid stepped back before Allana's mind could wander any further, saying, "My lady." Allana stood and shook out her sorts as her gaze moved to the young blond woman and she said "thank you Beth." Giving the girl a soft smile of gratitude she walked across the room, picking up her cloak as she went, intent on losing her worries on her ride.


	2. Prologue Part 2

**Warning: Season three spoilers!**

**So I wanted to say thanks so much for all the support I've recieved with this story so far! I never expected all these favorites, follows and reviews first thing! **

**Authors Note: A lot of this chapter is done in flashbacks and I'm hoping it works, I wouldn't normally do that, but this chapter is written mostly during season3 episode1 and I didn't want to mess with the existing scenes in the show so I left everything pretty much unchanged. I hope you all hang in there and continue to read. I promise that if you find this chapter lacking they will get better!**

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***One year later, Northern Ireland***

* * *

Allana knelt on both knees, head bent, her eyes tightly closed, hands steepled before her chest. The wind pulled at the ends of her dark hair as an almost silent prayer passed fervently from her lips. Long fingers of the grey Irish mist swirled thick and heavy through the air about Allana and her three guardsmen, wrapping them in their icey touch. The guards were kneeled down some feet behind her, each resting on one bent knee, their bare heads bent in respect as Allana prayed humbly over the grave of St Patrick.

The muttering of her lips, a heartfelt plea for the soul of her father. That the actions brought on from an ailing mind hadn't condemned his immortal soul.

After a length of time she stood, not accepting the hand that appeared suddenly at her side in assistance. Once she'd gained her footing, she reached down and brushed the dirt from her knees then lifted her hands to the hood of her heavy, fur-lined, green cloak and placed it over her loose curls and the circlet of silver that kept them somewhat tamed.

Up until his death nearly eighteen months ago, Allana had made this yearly pilgrimage with her father. Ecbert had brought her here before he took her to Wessex and she'd hoped he'd come with her again, but the impending return of the Northmen had made that impossible at any point in the near future so he'd sent her under armed guard and in the company of the spinster sister of his long dead wife, the Lady Claire. Lady Claire had grown ill just after they'd reached Southern UÃ NeÃ ll, Allana's one time home. Allana for her own part awaited the return of the Vikings with a certain amount of anticipation as well, like her uncle she hoped Athelstan came with them. He'd only been in Wessex for a few months after her arrival but she found his time amongst the pagans fascinated her as it did her uncle.

When Ecbert hadn't been able to bring her he'd sent word to her uncle Cathal, the present King to expect her arrival. Her homecoming had been exactly as she expected but not as she hoped. The imagined sins of her father still hung heavy in the air and while her uncle treated her as his niece and showed her the respect due her station, most others seemed to shy away from her presence, including her aunt and her cousins. Any fond feelings she still felt for her Irish uncle slipped away, no matter the kindness he treated her with. He hadn't spoken for his brother in those horrible days.

When it had all happened and her father's mind had faded and others dubbed him The Pagan King, Allana hadn't questioned her uncles lack of protest assuming he himself suffered from the same shock as all others or he'd kept silent in some sort of respect or that he'd simply chose not to perpetuate the rumors. Now, however time and distance had given her a clearer perspective and Allana saw his actions for what they were. Her uncle had his throne and her childhood home as he'd known he would when her father died and he didn't want to carry the stigmata of his brother over into his own reign.

While her new found distaste for her uncle's self-serving nature left her angry and hurt anew, she couldn't help but look on other things with a strange sort of morbid humor. In the months since her father's death a part of her had longed to return home and be amongst her people, to breathe the Irish air and feel that deeply ingrained sense of belonging she'd always felt. Now she remembered, why it was in the beginning she pushed the yearning in her heart she'd felt for home and country aside. Her father had always said he'd never met an Irishman that ever really forgot the sins of another, imagined or not.

After his passing, she'd felt like she would never feel truly at home anywhere again and as unlikely is it had seemed when she'd first sailed to England with her uncle, she'd found a happiness there. While Bishop Edmund and her cousin treated her civilly, she'd always felt as though she'd been weighed and measured and in the end left wanting. She'd found and unlikely friend in her cousins young wife. At first Allana knew Judith looked at her as all others: poisoned and tainted, but over time they'd become close. Through that friendship and her uncles ever-present respect and caring she'd managed to put a lot of the hurt in the past.

Now she longed to go back to Wessex and the home she had there. In the beginning she'd planned to be gone a fortnight but she'd found three days was more than enough time spent with her Irish family. As soon as the Lady Claire felt able Allana planned to return.

* * *

**One day earlier, Wessex**

* * *

Ragnar Lothbrok sat staring into the fire, the sounds of the camp and the night filling his ears. Somewhere off in the distance an owl hooted, the soft noises of the waves lapping shore not far off, mingled with the sounds of his people as they readied themselves to bed down for the night. As he sat there his mind drifted over all that had happened since he'd returned to Wessex earlier today. He'd seen King Ecbert's surprise and then the knowing light that entered his eyes when he'd asked after King Horrick and Ragnar had told him Horrick had met with an unfortunate accident. The surprise quickly faded and a look of understanding filled his eyes. His next words "now we are truely equal" were accompanied with a slight smile.

As they'd feasted Ecbert announced his own surprise and made Ragnar question as he sat there pondering the conversation, whether or not Ecbert truly saw them as equals or if the words he'd spoken were just that, words. The term equal was one Ragnar had long ago learned to be wary of, in his experience men were only equal when it served a purpose. King Ecbert had proved that today. The campaign for Princess Kwenthrith's throne had failed and cost the lives of Ragnar's men and then Ecbert gave him an ultimatum of sorts. Fight for Mercia or lose the land he'd already given in their treaty, he hadn't voiced it as such but that is what his words meant, "as God is my witness, some of my nobles do not agree with what I've done. They are afraid. But I am determined to honor our treaty. In return some of you, at least, must fight for Princess Kwenthrith." King Ecbert was a shrewd man and knew the only answer Ragnar could give was that he'd fight.

Ragnar knew the English King was an ambitious man and as he'd told Flocki when he'd spoke his opinion about them fighting this battle that wasn't their own, this was all part of something much bigger. King Ecbert wanted Princess Kwenthrith to claim her throne for a reason far different from what he implied and whatever the Engilsh Kings hidden agenda may be, it was still a mystery to Ragnar at present. And while Ragnar wasn't impressed with the Kings ultimatum he would play his part in whatever game it was Ecbert played, at least, at present. So tomorrow his people would separate, Lagertha and Athelstan would take the settlers and travel to the lands they'd been given and he would go with Rollo, the others and princess Kwenthrith to claim her throne.

* * *

King Ecbert returned to the room Athelstan had once spent so much time in after the Vikings' departure. King Ragnar Lothbrok, he thought to himself, a wry smile slipping across his lips. His smile grew slightly as his thoughts continued, he felt certain that the unfortunate accident that had befallen King Horrick was Ragnar himself. How much farther Ragnar Lothbroks ambitions might reach Ecbert didn't know, but he'd made himself a King and Ecbert could respect and identify with a man that had the determination take what he wanted. It made Ragnar both a valuable ally and if neccesity ever dictated, a worthy foe. King Horrick's death, while a mild surprise was a welcome event. It made all Ecbert's plans easier. He'd known Ragnar would do as he wanted, fight for Mercia, he trusted that Ragnar would see he had no other course. Ecbert had known that from the beginning but the Viking King he'd expected to oppose it, Horrick hadn't liked this truce from the start, the man was too small minded and greedy to see past his own motivations. So Ecbert had put all his faith in the fact that Ragnar was the stronger leader of the two and King Horrick would ultimately do as Ragnar wanted in the end.

The absence of Horrick had put another idea he'd had over the winter months back into the forefront of his mind and that had been, at least, in part, some of the reason he'd asked Athelstan to walk with him after they'd finished feasting. Ecbert had brought Athelstan to this room and had given him his gold cross attached to its long chain after they'd entered. Athelstan had been uncomfortable as Ecbert had expected he would when he handed him the necklace. It had been a calculated move on Ecbert's part as well as bringing Athelstan to this room where he'd once spent his days translating Roman works to English. Part of him and, not a small one, had felt betrayed when Athelstan had chosen to leave with Ragnar and he wanted Athelstan to remember it was he that had spared his life. Athelstan had quickly asked about Ecbert's niece Allana at this point in what he could only assume was an effort to direct the conversation away from any questions he may ask about why Athelstan had left.

Ecbert had answered his questions then asked a few of his own. He could see the curiosity and discomfort in Athelstans eyes as he asked what sort of man Rollo Lothbrok was? If he was ambitious like his brother? If he was married?

Athelstan had answered his cryptic questions carefully and hadn't been at all comfortable with being asked. He'd said Rollo was loyal to his brother and ambitious. A little vague, but really it didn't matter all he needed to know was the man was ambitious. When he'd asked if he was married Athelstan had looked more confused, but answered with the desired response. Ecbert had decided at that moment to go forward with his plans and speak to Ragnar. He trusted Ragnar would see the benefit for them all in such a union a marriage between his brother and Allana would mean more land for Ragnar's people to settle and farm and it meant the furthering of Ecberts own plans. Plans he hadn't spoken to a soul, just as he hadn't with the idea of marrying Allana to Rollo Lothbrok.

Ecbert had kept the idea of such a marriage to himself, not speaking to anyone about it for two reasons, one, he didn't see how he could make it work as he wanted with King Horrick alive and two, he knew his son, Bishop Edmund and his nobles would object.

Contrary to what others would think and say when he announced his intentions, if Rollo Lothbrok accepted he intended to see it through. He also felt certain some would question if he cared for her at all and he did.

She reminded him a great deal of her mother and he'd tried to find her a husband since the death of her father, but the scandal made it impossible. So his mind had begun to look without. At first he'd thought of a French Noblemen or someone from another European country but with her father's questionable Christianity he knew he'd not find the desired outcome. When he'd first had the idea of an alliance with the Viking's through marriage he'd dismissed it, but the seed took root and as the long months of winter slowly passed the idea came back more and more frequently. He believed he could trust Ragnar to see to it that Allana was treated with respect and he'd even believed he'd found a way to lay any protestation from his Bishop to rest. Rollo Lothbrok had been baptized and while King Aelle's report made it clear that it was done in mockery, it may just prove of big enough import to allow this to happen. But he'd dismissed it, knowing King Horrick would protest the union, no doubt wanting such an alliance to his benefit not Ragnar's.

* * *

**The next morning**

* * *

Upon Ragnar's arrival the next morning King Ecbert had asked that they have a private meeting and as he'd followed the King through his home toward his private chambers Ragnar had pondered what exactly he could want now. He had expected more stipulations to their agreement and had been prepared for that. His suspicions worsening as the Engilsh King announced he had another proposition for him. He'd expected more talk of his men fighting, but as if sensing his mistrust Ecbert quickly added, he wanted to strengthen their friendship once more and said also that what he had in mind would quiet any further protest amongst his nobles. Ragnar didn't point out that he and his men fighting was supposed to quiet the King's nobles instead he asked, 'and what is that?' The Kings simply worded reply shocked him. "A marriage." Ecbert knew the words had gained Ragnars full attention and as Ragnar absorbed that statement, King Ecbert elaborated on his proposition. He proposed that his niece Allana an Irish princess marry Rollo.

And now as he stood observing the others prepare for departure it filled his mind. He'd asked Ecbert why he would marry his Christian niece to Rollo and why he was speaking to him instead of the princesses own father and he said her father had died a year and a half ago and that his mind was ailing. He'd begun to practice the religion of his youth once more and his behavior had left its marc on Allana herself so Ecbert had brought her to Wessex with him in hopes of escaping the rumors, but it hadn't worked. When he'd been unable to find her a husband among his own people his mind had turned without and this idea had came to him. Ragnar believed he was telling the truth, at least, partially, but despite his candid answer, Ragnar was sure there was more behind Ecbert's motives than just that. At the end Ecbert had left it to Ragnar to discuss the proposal with his brother and said Rollo could give his answer when he returned. The princess would be back from her trip by that time and if Rollo decided to accept the offer he could meet her then as well.

* * *

**One day later**

* * *

Allana rode her horse through the gates in curtain wall and into the courtyard of her uncles home, glad to be back. Lady Claire had made a suspiciously quick recovery when Allana had told her she wished to return home as soon as possible. One day the woman had been so sick she couldn't stand to venture outside the next she'd been feeling more than ready to return England and Wessex. A secerative smirk slipped onto Allana's lips, she found she could relate to Lady Claire's illness and quick recovery, in many ways being in her Uncle's home had the same affect on her.

Two groomsmen rushed forward, interrupting her musings. One to take the reigns of her horse the other to help her dismount. Allana smiled warmly at the familiar, aged and weathered features of her uncle's head groom Adam as he placed the mounting block on the ground beside her horse. She reached out and placed her hand in his steadying one as she dismounted. She didn't need the assistance and she didn't always wait for it either, but it was customary here among the English that a lady should never mount or dismount without the aid of another. That was entirely silly in Allana's estimation but she kept her opinion to herself. "Thank you," she said as she stepped down from block then headed toward the villa, stopping to tell the first servant she met to have a bath readied for her then she made her way to her room.

As she continued down the corridor that led to the family rooms she thought about her traveling companion. The lady Claire had chosen to return to the Abbey directly without stopping to see her late sisters husband. Claire like many of Allanas uncles other subjects took a dim view of his treaty with the Northmen and as they'd learned upon their return that the Vikings had indeed returned during their time in Ireland so Claire had decided to immediately return to her home.

Claire had spoken her opinion of Ecbert's actions rather blatantly several times on their journey. Her opinions were not at all flattering and Allana wondered how Claire could feel so at ease as to share them with her. Her uncle was after all a King and to speak so freely could be considered treason, but if Claire realized that it didn't stop her from talking. Among her many opinion's was that she felt Ecbert was an ambitious man maybe too ambitious as she put it and she believed it was that ambition that had led him to make pacts with these heathens.

She also said that when he saved the Christian monk from crucifixion and brought him into his home he'd invited the devil in as well.

She'd also shared with Allana that she couldn't understand why Bishop Edmund allowed such behavior, saying he should seek the aid of the Cardinal, that it was his duty to take this matter to those that could stop Ecbert.

Allana believed what her uncle had done and hoped to achieve could save his people from much hardship. From what she understood these men had a habit of taking what they wanted.

Not long after Allana had first come to England the Northmen had returned for a second time and battle had ensued, she'd still been in partial seclusion having only lost her father a short time previous to that, but after they'd left, her uncle had talked with her about his reasons. The conversation had happened simply because Allana had happened along her cousin Aethelwulf and her uncle as they talked. Her appearance had stopped the discussion and Aethelwulf had stormed off, Allana began to apologize for interrupting, but her uncles had stopped her and asked if she'd like to sit with him awhile. As they'd sat there, her uncle staring into the fire shed noted his preoccupation and asked him if everything was alright. He'd shared far more with her than she had expected.

She come to see that night that her uncle was a different sort of man, he saw things more clearly than most, moved past the fear and looked for a solution. He had long ago seen what these men and their kind were capable of when he'd stayed in the court of Charlemagne. Seeing greed as one of their driving forces, he knew they'd keep coming and taking what they wanted and believed he could avoid the destruction and loss of life that would bring.

* * *

Ragnar stood across the camp from his brother, leaning against a tree, a mug in his hand, his mind drifting over everything that had happened since they'd returned to Wessex. They'd sailed inland up the river and found the forces of Princess Kwenthrith's brother and uncle on different banks. Ragnar had chosen the smaller force of her uncle to engage first and a battle had ensued. They'd almost completely annihilated the force of the Princesses uncle, him included, leaving only a handful of survivors. The casualties and wounded of Ragnar's own were small, but amongst that number was Torstien.

Rollo sat, ax in one hand sharpening its blade with the stone he held in his other, in what appeared to be a good-natured conversation with Flocki, Bjorn and a few others. Torstien sat not far away, his listless eyes staring toward the boats and the river and for a moment he drew Ragnar's focus and his gaze traveled over his wounded friend. Torstien had been wounded before they all had, but this time it was different and it worried Ragnar and made his irritation with the stipulations Ecbert had placed on he and his men upon their return worsen. He knew Torstien freely chose to fight beside him in this battle, Ragnar had given them all a choice and if it was fated for Torstien to die this way, he would, but still it bothered him. That wasn't to say he was questioning his Gods, he'd just planned to come back to Wessex and claim the land that was given to his people and set up a settlement, not see more of his friends die. The sound of Rollo's laughter entered Ragnar's thought and brought his mind back to what he need to discuss with his brother.

Yesterday as they waited for word of the Princesses uncle and brother, he'd listened to Rollo and Flocki talk about woman. It had been on the tip of Ragnar's tongue to add to his own comment and tell Rollo he'd never have to worry about a wet arse again.

He didn't know that love would ever follow if Rollo accepted this offer, but money could go along way toward making up for its lack, then Flocki had spoken up once more and Ragnar had waited, planning to tell Rollo he needed to talk with him, but then the rider had come and all his focus had turned to the forces of Princess Kwenthrith's uncle and brother.

Now his mind had turned back to the other matter at hand. He knew Rollo would have questions and he felt certain Rollo would accept King Ecbert's offer. Ragnar was so certain in fact, he felt sure he could have answered for him. After all, It meant Rollo would gain everything he'd ever wanted. And while Rollo was a changed man in many ways he was still ambitious, every bit as ambitious as Rangar himself. Ragnar drained the last of the mead in his mug, then approached his brother, sending a look to the others that conveyed he needed to talk to Rollo in private.

Rollo watched his brother sat down on the ground close by and the others left, wondering what he had on his mind. At the moment Ragnar's heavy gazed rested on Torstien's back where he sat several feet away Rollos own gaze followed and for a second he watched him as well.

"King Ecbert has made another offer." Ragnar spoke, bringing Rollo's gaze back to him.

He nodded, not really surprised. "What does he want of us this time brother?" He questioned as he looked at Ragnar, briefly, before his attention went back to his ax. It seemed every offer from King Ecbert came with some sort of price.

"He doesn't ask it of us, he asks it of you." Ragnar said as his gaze moved from Torstien to Rollo's face.

"Me?" Rollo scoffed as his gaze shifted to his brother once more, his brow raised. "What could he possibly want from me?" Then went back to sharpening his ax as if whatever Ragnar had to say would be of little importance.

Ragnar couldn't help but wonder how long his brother would take the view point once he knew.

"He has a niece... an Irish princess and he wants you to marry her." He offered, watching Rollo closely.

This time Rollo's gaze snapped to his brother, while the rest of his body grew completely still. His dismissal of moments ago gone. The surprise he felt showed on his face and the words hung in the air as he absorbed them, his mind began racing. Several questions soon rushed through his head as his initial disbelief led to question's. His first question being, Why? Then, what is wrong with her? "Why?"

That question had been on Ragnars mind since King Ecbert had made the offer. He had a reason and not just the ones he'd given, but what they were he was uncertain. "He said it would strengthen our friendship and lay any further descent amongst his nobles to rest."

"And you believe that to be his motivation?" Rollo asked, skeptically, his mind still racing.

After a moment Ragnar began. "No. Not entirely. But there is also much to gain in this marriage if you choose to accept. The offer includes a great deal more than just the princess herself." He paused, still holding Rollos gaze.

"Like?"

"She comes with much land and riches and all of it would be yours. She is also the niece of two kings..." Ragnar replied as he watched Rollos gaze shift to the ground, but not before Ragnar saw Rollo's eyes come alive with an understanding of all this meant.

"These lands and riches aren't inconsiderable." Ragnar added a moment later.

This had Rollo's eyes coming back to Ragnar quickly. "All I have to do is marry her and all this is mine." He said speaking his next though aloud.

It sounded like a question but one Ragnar didn't feel the need to answer, the next he did. "What is wrong with her?"

"Nothing that I know of." Ragnar replied.

"So is it the custom of these English Kings to sell their women?" Rollo asked sardonically, his tone conveying what he thought of that idea.

"Ecbert told me it is custom here when a Noblewoman is married to give the husband land and riches. A dowry is what he called it."

"A dowry," Rollo said, rolling the unfamiliar phrase across his tongue, but truthfully saying the word didn't even register, his mind was too busy focusing on what a dowry was. "How much Land and wealth?" He asked, his eyes traveling back to his brother's.

"She has three thousand acres in Ireland and Ecbert is offering another thousand acres in Wessex, along with five hundred pounds of weight in gold and silver." Gone was Rollo's attention to the ax in his hand and all thought of anything but this Princess King Ecbert offered and the wealth that came with her.

They spoke at length about King Ecbert's offer before Ragnar left him alone with his thoughts. Rollo's eyes were on Ragnar as he walked off, but he didn't see his brother. All the things he'd once felt he wanted so desperately were now his for the taking, right at the tips of his fingers. All he need do was reach out and take them. At one point in his life, he'd spent much time dreaming of this very moment. Wealth, power, a chance to be a great man and set himself apart from his brother and now The Gods offered him just that.

The princess, Allana as Ragnar had called her, would give him much. Three thousand acres on an island to the west of England, more land in Wessex and enough gold and silver to keep his life comfortable for years to come.

The only thing he needed to do to have everything he'd ever wanted was agree to marry her... It all sounded too good and Rollo knew eventually there would be a long trailing string that King Ecbert would pull and it would be his turn to pay his own price if he dared to take what was offered.

* * *

**If Ecbert's motives and the reasons why he'd do this seem a little vague at the moment I'm sorry. I promise I will reveal all in due time so please hang in there! I have done a lot of research into the time period and come up with a plan. And on that note, when I originally had this idea it was an end of season 2 idea. A friend or the friend that is the motivation behind this particular story suggested I start at the beginning of season 3 so I can't tell you all how often you will get updates. I think I will most likely be working at least two shows if not three or four behind most of the time and I dont know how closely it will follow the storyline. **** And as always I hope you all enjoy! **


	3. Prologue part 3

**So sorry about how long it's been since I updated... I went away for almost a month and when I left I had plans of posting another chapter while I was gone, but the show kept throwing me curve balls and I found my writing need way more thinking than I could give!**

**And whoa, I truly don't know what to say about the response to this story so far besides thank you and I hope you all continue to read and enjoy!**

**Also this chapter takes place during e2 and e3 of season 3 so THERE ARE some SPOILERS in here and it's mostly done through flashbacks from different characters. That may seem a little strange, but I didn't want to write out a bunch of scenes from the show so I just decided to give you guys certain characters' perspectives afterwards. I tried to give a least some idea of what was happening and on the show without giving everything away.**

* * *

**Two days later in Wessex**

* * *

Ecbert's attention was drawn from his conversation with Athelstan as one of his soldiers hurried toward them. "Riders King Ecbert," the man announced just as the aforementioned company left the cover of the trees behind. A look of surprise slipped onto Ecberts face momentarily, but was quickly replaced with a slight smile as he observed the party. His attention mostly on Allana perched on top of her speckled gray Palfrey. Like her mother had his niece loved to ride. And in the beginning when she'd first come to Wessex with him the rides he'd taken with her were the only time's he'd seen her at ease. Sometimes she asked him to join her, others she went alone with only guard's as company. When had gone, they rarely spoke and it was as though the silence and physical activity gave her a sense of center.

Like usual the sight of her on horseback and the way she sat her horse made him think of Elspeth, the rosy glow in her cheeks and exhilaration in her eyes did as well.

He hadn't expected her back quite so soon and the faint smile he wore grew ever so slightly as she continued toward them. A smile brighter than his own tilted up the edges of her lips impishly and lighted her pretty features with delight as her warm gaze held his. She may be a princess, but such smiles were not commonplace in ones of high birth.

Maybe it was simply that for all of her father's being a King he'd never taught Allana the haughty quality, most noble families had instilled in them from conception.

He hadn't seen Allana's father since his sister's death and had spent little time in his company beforehand, but from what he remembered he was a great bear of a man, ruddy featured and quick to laugh. The man found humor in situations where most would not, but that wasn't to say he was a fool. Nialll of UÃ NÃelll was named for the first Nialll, his ancestor and- like the Great Nialll -was not a man to be taken lightly. It was because his ancestry made him a High King and the stories of his own prowess that Ecbert's father had accepted the offer for his sister when it came. Ireland wasn't a rich land, but some branch of Nialll's family held the reigns of power in almost every kingdom. His father had seen the potential value in that.

"Uncle." Allana said before he spoke, her smile still intact as she brought the gelding to stop by his side and swung her leg over his back, accepting the help of the soldier already waiting to lend her assistance. Ecbert's smile grew in return as he reached up and ran his hand down her horse's sweaty neck.

"So you've returned to us already?" He asked, the warm, amused smile on his face staying in place as he searched her gaze. The light in her eyes, changed slightly, but whatever it was quickly faded.

"Yes, day before yesterday, "she replied, as her feet touched the ground and the soldier stepped away then continued as she adjusted her burgundy cloak around her shoulders. "But as you had yet to return I managed to talk Judith into coming with me to find you."

His smile broadened as he turned his attention to Judith and asked wryly, "Did you walk or gallop your way here?" He would bet it was the later. At first the relationship between these two young women had been strained just as it was for almost everyone after Allana's arrival. Judith hadn't known what to say or how to treat her, but over time he'd seen them grow close.

Judith's own smile grew marginally and she said good-naturedly, "We put them through their paces as Allana would say." He smiled, taking in both young women as he said, "I see."

"So you have returned, my friend." Allana's eyes moved past her uncle as she stepped past him, her gaze on Athelstan. He was much changed from the man she remembered; thus it had taken her a moment to recognize him.

"Yes, for now, my lady." He responded, his gaze moving past her to her uncle for a moment as he spoke. "Well it is glad I am to see you no matter how long that time may be." Hearing the soft inflection in her voice made his smile grow as his gaze came back to hers.

Whatever thoughts would have followed or whatever reply he could have made were stopped when Ecbert said "why don't we introduce my niece to Earl Ingsted"

The term Earl could obviously be misleading, Allana found as her gaze moved to the small blond woman who stood close by. Ecbert spoke first then Athelstan translated in the tongue of the Northmen. As she greeted the Earl, Allana found herself intrigued by the idea of a female holding such a title and by the woman in general.

In the beginning when Allana had first came to Wessex, she'd sought the company of Athelstan in hopes of gaining a better understanding of what her father had been accused of, Athelstan had been reluctant to share anything with her. He had appeared nervous and told her the stories weren't a fitting topic to discuss with a lady, Allana had respected his privacy, but she had still sought his company. And overtime, something had changed and he'd begun to share parts of his life amongst the Northmen. She had never known what changed his mind, if it was the likeness of her own story and his, a simple recognition of the similarities in their places in life. Both had been labeled by something beyond their control and were left on the outside. The things he'd told her seemed at times, like fanciful tales of ordinary people; gloriously flawed and human, not monsters, but at other times, like with this woman they seemed almost beyond belief.

And he had spoken to Allana of her several times before as Lagertha, wife and then ex-wife of Ragnar Lothbrok. He'd called her a shield-maiden and talked of her children, said she was as respected among her people as her husband and famous for her prowess in battle. She'd seen the respect he felt for her and several others as he spoke as well as the sorrow he felt at the death of Lagertha's daughter and the treachery of King Ragnar's brother. It had fascinated her then and now she kind of felt like she was meeting a character from a bards tale; someone that no matter what you were told you didn't think could exist.

Judith held back as the others talked, uncertainty filling her now that she was here. All reason and common sense told her she shouldn't have come. She could tell herself it was her habit of giving into Allana all she wanted but that wasn't true and she knew it. Her heart had leapt at the idea of seeing him again, if she'd be honest she had been obsessed with this moment since he'd left with the settlers. She'd driven herself mad thinking about when he would come back, fantasizing about it. Then she'd dreamt of him.

She'd told herself to stop. She was a married woman and he a monk. If her own husband, child and that he was a monk once, weren't enough to stop her obsession the dream should have been. She had managed to pray and guilt the unwanted feelings away until Allana had announced her intentions to ride to the settlement, she'd still managed to calm the impulse to come until Allana asked her if she was joining her and like- an impulsive child- shed jumped at the offer once asked.

They spent the most of the time they were there being shown around the settlement and Judith had listened eagerly to the sound of his voice as Allana asked all sorts of questions; questions Judith knew she would have herself if not for all the other things going on in her head. Her heart decided to leap once more when they were readying to leave the settlement later that day and Ecbert asked Lagertha and Athelstan to join them.

* * *

**Mercia**

* * *

Aethelwulf rode back to the river no more comfortable with this alliance now than he had been before, but he also knew they couldn't hope to achieve the desired outcome without the help of these men so he'd play his part. And he also knew what that part entailed, his father would want him to ignore their heathen ways and see the fighters these men were. That, however, was not easy.

He'd found King Ragnar the information he wanted, he knew Burgred, Princess Kwenthrith's brother was held up in the iron age fort at the top the mountain to the north of the river. He also knew the rider they'd sent for reinforcements had never made his journey. Aethelwulf had seen to that, he was presently bringing the soldier back to camp with him and had given the man his word no harm would come to him... Even as he spoke he wondered if it was an oath he could keep. The horrifying memory of Rollo Lothbrok's brutality filled his head at the thought.

Aethelwulf had been sitting next to Bishop Edmund when he'd first heard the screams, he had stood and moved quickly in the direction they'd come from. At first confusion had filled him as he found the source of the noise. A soldier of Mercia lay screaming on the ground and Rollo Lothbrok stood towering over him with his back to Aethelwulf. Trying to rationalize the display his eyes had searched quickly for a weapon in the screaming man's hand or on the ground nearby. He wasn't close but saw no evidence of one, the impulse to stop what was happening was there, but shock had kept him immobile.

Rollo Lothbrok stood over a Mercian soldier, swinging his short handled axe and brought it down on the other man's leg. The man's continuous screams grew louder in tempo as the axe cut into his flesh again. Rollo turned his head toward the unarmed man's face and as if possessed by some unholy spirit, hollered himself, then swung his axe once more, hitting the soldier in the forehead and silencing him. He had turned away then and staggered back down the slight incline, his hand stretched out in front of him, his stance as he moved, odd as if his own body was a new discovery. The look on his face as equally unnatural as his movements. The camp that had been silent- except for the soldier screams, filled with voices once more, Pagan and Christian alike as if the attack that Aethelwulf could only assume was unwarranted was common place.

He'd then watched Rollo make his way back toward his injured friend and still longer as they spoke and then laughed, bile, repugnance and anger churned in his stomach. He turned his back to leave and found princess Kwenthrith stumbling drunkly towards him. The anger he'd felt growing as he met her gaze, she was as much of an abortion in his eyes as the Northmen. He hadn't seen it, but had been told of her stabbing the severed head of her dead uncle repeatedly. He had dropped his gaze and walked past her, ignoring the inquiry she'd voiced over King Ragnar's whereabouts.

Just after that he'd watched as both Lothbrok brothers and others took the decapitated heads of the fallen men of Princess Kwenthrith's uncle's forces and tied them to frame works they fashioned on their boats. He'd climbed into one of those boats just as several others did, crossing himself before hand, then sailed across the river listening as the Princess called out to her brother and then watched as the man ran away. Despite all he'd witnessed he would do as his father wished, put on the mask his father always wore and make peace with these men and the part he needed to play.

* * *

**The next day in Wessex**

* * *

"That is what they accused my father of." Allana's softly spoken words of disbelief weren't a question, but a statement of fact and they hung heavy in the cool air as they rode back from the settlement. Truthfully, the whole scene had taken Ecbert by surprise. He'd heard tales of such pagan behavior, but one couldn't understand or really understand it from just stories. After the shock had worn off, his mind had immediately focused on how he would or could appease his nobles and keep his alliance with King Ragnar after this new complication.

It shocked him somewhat to hear her words and know she was right. She'd stayed close to him the remainder of the time they were at the settlement after the sacrifice, but he'd been too preoccupied with the words of his nobles to see or think what effect it may have had on Allana to witness such a thing. And for a moment he saw Lagertha in his minds eyes as they dumped blood over her.

Now as he gazed at Allana's profile he could see the snow white pallor of her complexion and the shadow that seemed to hang about her and could only imagine the hurt and betrayal she must feel.

Moments later she spoke again her voice tinged with anger, this time her eyes moved to him."The very idea that my people could think the man my father was knowingly capable of such things.. That his own brother wouldn't speak for him." He held gaze seeing the same anger and disbelief he'd heard in her voice reflected in her eyes, the look changed in the brief time their gazes held, becoming one of something akin to resolve.

Her gaze shifted from him and she spurred her horse. The gray beast leapt forward, the wind pulling his white mane out behind him as he picked up speed. Ecbert let her go watching as two soldiers broke off from the rest to follow her.

* * *

**Mercia**

* * *

Rollo stood watching his nephew where he rested on his knees close to Porunn's unconscious form. His eyes drifted over the bloody cloth covering the right side of her face. They'd done what Ecbert wanted of them, defeated the Princesses uncle and brother but at a price. Bjorn's omission that Porunn was pregnant weighed heavily on his mind, as did the exchange between Bjorn and Ragnar. Ragnar's words when Bjorn had revealed her condition were harsh, brutally so and Rollo knew they were an effect of the anger his brother felt. He had gone looking for Ragnar, because Bjorn needed his father, stopping several feet away, Rollo hadn't heard the words passing between Ragnar and Flocki as they knelt one on either side of Torstiens dead body but their body language had said plenty.

They had exchanged words earlier before the battle. Flocki didn't want to be here fighting for this English King and Torstein's injury had only made it worse. It was never an easy thing to lose a friend and worse still to watch them suffer. In the end it was Torsteins own choice and fate that had led him up that mountain this morning, Rollo had helped him make the climb himself, but the animosity that had been brewing for so long between Ragnar and his onetime friend clouded all reason. Neither man seemed to remember it was fate the determined the course of all men's lives. Flocki would see only Ragnar's fault in Torstien's death and the guilt he knew his brother felt would make the rift between the two men widen.

It was that same frustration and anger combined with the secret Bjorn had kept that had spurred Ragnar to the harsh words he'd dealt his son. Part of what Ragnar said, while it could be true, didn't need to be spoken, for instance that Porunn would die. He'd spoken more words purely out of anger, he couldn't believe Bjorn was his son and that he couldn't stand to look at him. He'd gone a step further than words as well, slapping Bjorn across the face.

Rollo did agree with Ragnar when he said Bjorn should have made her stay behind, they all knew she wasn't ready and her blind determination that she was was proof of that. He'd seen it many times with many others. It was the way of things, the young were always eager to prove themselves and either learned quickly that what they'd learned in training wasn't all there was to know about battle or they died.

In training you didn't die; you didn't run the risk of death and it gave some a false sense of confidence. Bjorn had been guilty of it as had he and even Ragnar to an extent. What made this worse and had led to his brother's angry words was the child. Bjorn had allowed her to fight knowing she wasn't ready, but worse still knowing she carried his child and really he should have done whatever he could to keep her away, but that point was moot now.

Ragnar himself knew what it was like to have a strong headed woman in his life, but as Rollo stood there watching he knew with certainty Lagertha ever would have risked the life of one of her children. He also knew if he'd ever been in Bjorns spot on the cusp of being a father, he wouldn't have allowed the woman to risk both her own life and that of their unborn child. These thoughts brought others to his mind, ones of his own future. While this Princess and her fortune had stayed in his mind since Ragnar had told him of Ecbert's offer he hadn't really thought about it today. But soon now they would be traveling back to Wessex and he'd yet to tell Ragnar, but he'd made up his mind. He would take this Princess as his wife.


	4. Chapter 1

**First let let me say season 3 episode 6 spoiler alert! **

**Well I tried to get this one to you all without such a long wait and I am going to try and update more often from here on out!**

**I'm still getting used to writing all these new characters and am anxious for any feedback you all have good or constructive!**

**And as always thanks so much for the review and new favs and follows! You guys are amazing!**

* * *

**Wessex, nine months later**

* * *

Judith's loud desperate pleas could be heard long before the two soldiers forced her into view. "No!" She screamed as they half dragged half carried her through the doors, into the courtyard and into the parting crowd of nobles, church officials and commoners.

She fought frantically against them or as much as she could given their greater size and strength, dragging her feet, she forced them to carry her. The ranks of peasants present threw rotten vegetables at her and called out their condemning words.

Allana stood in her place, on the dais at her uncle's right. The fear and disbelief rising inside her growing as she watched.

Despite her pleading her uncle hadn't allowed her to be with Judith as she gave birth just moments ago, but he'd had her summoned to the courtyard along with members of the church and nobles alike to watch her disgrace. Allana had told him she wouldn't be a party to it, but he'd given her no choice in the matter saying he understood she loved Judith, but that her place was beside her cousin. Allana had known even as she'd spoken those words that they were hollow, she would be there for Judith in this.

As she watched Judith's terrified expression as they forced her onto the platform and bound her to the pole erected in its center, with leather straps, she spoke "Uncle please. You can't do this!" Ecbert paid her no attention not even looking in her direction. The desperation she saw and heard in the voice and saw in the eyes of the wife of her cousin and close friends made the sick feeling in her stomach churn and grow as Judith begged. "Aethelwulf! My husband! What are you doing to me." Those begging, desperate words made her plead for Judith once more. She tried to reason, "Did our Lord Jesus not say let he who is without sin cast the first stone?" Her words again fell of deaf ears.

She watched and listened as Judith's own pleas grew in ferocity and distress as she pleaded with both Ecbert and her husband for leniency, but Judith's words were met with little more notice than Allana's own.

Allana's eyes shifted between the two men who occupied the dais with her. Aethelwulf, to his credit did appear to blanch at the sound of Judith's voice, but in the end remained unswayed.

The sound of Bishop Edmunds voice broke through the disbelief in Allana's head as he spoke and Allana's gaze quickly sought him as he approached the platform. "My Lady Judith, you have been found guilty of adultery against your lawful husband." Stopping directly in front of Judith he continued, "You refuse to admit the offense, but we find sufficient evidence to exercise the punishment advocated by the Holy Book." Allana took one halting step forward, please her mind begged as she watched Judith's chest heave as the bishop continued, " That your ears and nose be cut off." A great roar of cheers came up from the gathered crowd as if the idea of Judith's public humiliation was cause for happiness. The bishop's voice continued over the noise of the people, "To make real and visible sign of your crime. Against law and against nature."

"Our Lord, Jesus Christ would never advocate such barbarism." Judith spoke, her words no less desperate than before, she strained against her bonds as much as possible, turning her head against the leather restraint as she began to beg once more, the terror lacing her voice. "Please, please. Husband, father!"

"Why can you not show the mercy that our Lord showed those weak in the flesh."

The noise of the crowd grew in volume at her words and continued even as she begged, "Please!" From somewhere in the gathered crowd someone called "No mercy!"

With a calm face the Bishop spoke over the crowd, "Judith, daughter of Aella, wife of Aethelwulf, you are charged and found guilty of the heinous crime of adultery with person or persons unknown. You must pray to God for forgiveness."

Judith's only response, a wild shriek and she struggled still more. Somewhere amid the horror of the thing happening before her that she was powerless to prevent Allana had become motionless and thoughtless. Only capable of watching. Bishop Edmund stepped back to make room for the man chosen to deliver punishment, the appointed one stepped close to Judith and brushed her hair behind her ears, much like the Bishop had just done, then lifted the large blade to the side of Judith's head. Judith's chest heaved harder, the noise of her breathing carrying to Allana and sounding feral as the man moved the knife into position.

Then Ecbert spoke out as he lifted his hand into the air and called, "stay!" Allana's gaze shifted to him and her heart rate slowed as he asked, "Judith, will you not give us the name of the father of your child?"

Judith screamed this time holding onto the name that might save her, even as Allana silently begged her to speak that one simple word. Her screams grew in volume and within a second her right ear was gone. Then the word came. At first low; so low for a second Allana thought it was her imagination and not Judith at all.

* * *

**Kattegat the same day**

* * *

Since Rollo had returned from Wessex several months ago he'd found sleep, for the most part, alluded him. If he did manage to close his eyes, it was for short fitful interludes, sometimes dreaming; sometimes not. For the first month or so he'd preferred to stay drunk, finding it easier to deal with life that way. As some of the sharpness had began to fade the constant state of drunkenness had lost its appeal.

Today, like most days, he left his house just as the sun was peaking over the mountains, without breakfast in his stomach, instead wrapping up salted meat and cheese and taking it with him. He trudged into the forest, his quiver on his back and bow in hand. The pretext was to hunt and sometimes he did and others he didn't, instead finding solace in the quiet and an escape from the things that had happened. This morning he didn't stop till he was high up in the mountains, far from the village, at the head of one of the waterfalls that fed the fjord. He placed his bow carefully on one of the big, moss covered rocks clustered about then did the same with his quiver. He shed his cloak next, dropping it atop of another, he sat down on it and pulled out his repast. His mind continuing as he ate the cheese first.

As the months moved past, he found the idea of this place called Paris consumed his thoughts and today was no exception. He always anticipated going on raids but this time it was more so, the idea of this strange land filled him with a different anticipation.

This year had been one of harsh blows. While the anger he'd felt with his brother on their return had lessened other things stayed with him. Siggy's death still haunted him, made him feel less a man. The Princess, his almost bride had been dangled cruelly in front of his face and when he dared to reach out and take her the Gods had ripped her from his grasp. In itself that seemed to add to the list of his personal failures despite the reasons Ecbert had given. The words of the seer angered him; the Gods angered him; Siggy's death angered him. How was he supposed to believe what the seer said to him that the Gods had any great plans for him when anything he'd ever done was met with defeat. This morning, like several others, he pushed the anger he felt out of the forefront of his thoughts and turned his mind to Paris instead, despite his anger the words the seer had said to him usually followed.

If he truly knew what the Gods had in store for him, he'd go down and dance on the beach naked.

* * *

Allana hurried down the passage that led to Judith's rooms a short time later, the soft soles of her leather shoes echoing loudly in the deserted space. Her mind filled with the macabre images of what she'd just witnessed less than an hour ago in grisly detail. Judith had confirmed what Allana had known all along: Athelstan was the father of the child. She didn't believe Judith's confession surprised her cousin either. He hadn't been present for most of the time Athelstan was here, but there was always something in his eyes, the sort of knowing you feel when you feel certain of an truth no one has spoken.

Allana now questioned if Judith had answered any differently, given another name, if she would have been spared further punishment? The sick feeling that hadn't left her settled more heavily into the pit of her stomach as she thought about the words her uncle had spoken to Aethelwulf after Judith confessed, leaving her at a loss and with two questions. How could he believe that Judith's child had come from some sort of divine providence? How could he claim to know God's will? She pushed the thought aside as she reached Judith's door, opening it softly and peaking inside before she entered.

Judith sat on a bench in the center of the room, the gloomy light from the windows surrounding her. Allana's eyes instantly went to the white bandage wrapped around Judith's head and dark waves. Her eyes drifted lower over the thin gauzy white robe she wore and her tiny new son wrapped in a light blue blanket resting in her arms. Her head bent low as she gazed at him. Allana stood there for a moment more watching before she quietly stepped inside and said Judith's name.

Judith looked up startled at first, her eyes wide, her arms visibly tightening around young Alfred for a moment. Allana's heart went out to her and she tried to smile reassuringly as she moved closer. She wanted to ask if Judith was all right but the question seemed in poor taste. How could she be?

Judith's gaze dropped from Allana's to her child as Allana finished her approach. When Judith didn't raise her gaze again Allana sat down on the bench beside her, sinking into the soft, red cushion as she leaned closer so she could see the babe. Judith glanced at her again, sadness clouding her gaze. Allana reached out and pulled the blanket he was swaddled in away from his face and said, "He's beautiful." That ever present inflection of her native tongue tinting her voice.

"He is," Judith replied after a pause, her voice heavy with emotion.

"He's so tiny.." Allana observed after a moment, her eyes drifting to him again. Judith made no response and Allana couldn't even imagine what she must feel.

"May I hold him?" Allana asked after another silent pause, her hand dropping away. Judith tensed again, making Allana think she feared if she let go she may never get him back.

Judith wanted to let Allana hold him, but couldn't bring herself to, saying instead, "He favors...Do you think Athelstan will ever?..." The pressure in her chest became almost suffocating. That question had been on her mind for some time now. Ecbert had spared her, but what would her husband do if Athelstan returned. She prayed he wouldn't even as she hoped he did.

Allana heard the question with no idea how to reply. Her uncle's affection for Athelstan had saved Judith from being horribly mutilated today. If it had been anyone else she still didn't know that he would have forgone the barbaric punishment and her cousin, Aethelwulf would follow Ecbert's lead, but what man wouldn't wish Athelstan dead or worse in light of recent events.

Her mind drifted back to Ecbert's words about the conception of the child and she knew no matter how bizarre and grandiose her uncles claims may be, Aethelwulf, like always would do as Ecbert suggested. That thought made her head fill with the memory of Ecbert and Aethelwulf as Ecbert had told his son his thought's, that heavy sick feeling settled into her stomach that she'd felt as her uncle spoke earlier. She gave herself a mental shake as the sick feeling changed from a feeling akin to horror to one of disbelief once more. In the end she said, "You and the bairn will be safe Judith but I don't know.." Her words trailed off as Judith's eyes filled with tears.

"I'm not sorry." Judith said through the emotion as she held Allana's gaze and the tears began to fall.

Allana left Judith a while later, shutting the door as softly as when she'd entered, her thoughts troubled, but not just with Judith and the events of the day. All of the thing that had happened over the last several months, the ever present tension had made Allana think of things she'd thought long buried. And as she made her way toward her own rooms they followed, unwilling to allow her an escape.

Dogal of Dún Pádraig had been one of her father's greatest friends. A man known for his prowess in battle and loyalty to the her father the High King and Allana had been only a child in many ways at six and ten years of age. Thirty years her senior, he was a tall dark man, barrel chested and stern.

Their marriage had been her father's attempt to aline her with someone strong and capable of leading. After the death of her mother her father had never married again and had known his only child would need a strong husband. He'd chosen his most trusted councilor and friend. Innocent to the ways of men Allana had thought, even though in someways she knew it wasn't so, that all men were kind and caring like her father. Their marriage had lasted almost a year before Dogal died in battle, leaving Allana a widow. In that time Allana had found out what it was like to be wanted for ones title and ones sole value being based on what one gave their husband. He had never physically harmed her, but he was cold and aloof and at times autocratic. He made her feel as though her presence in his life mattered little, frequenting woman of low repute and sometimes even bringing his conquests to their home. She'd only spoken of Dogals treatment to one person, his aged mother. She scoffed at Allana and asked her if she'd expected love. Then informed Allana that there were certain times men preferred a grown woman to a child. Still, she had placed certain men apart from her husband's behavior, knowing that not all men are equal. Her father for instance, was kind and caring and she had thought her uncle the same till now. Maybe it wasn't a fair comparison but she'd never have expected the barbarism she witnessed at her uncle's hands today. If he'd had no choice but to punish Judith than so be it, but publicly and with such methods?

* * *

Aethelwulf sat in his chair at the dining table the next morning, his red rimmed eyes on Allana as she walked away. He had chosen to not join them for dinner last night, spending his evening, instead, in the chapel in prayer and fasting. Asking for the strength to accept God's will in this. When he failed to find peace he'd left the chapel and sought solace in drink. His father spoke to one of the servants bringing him from the memories and thoughts assailing him. His attention shifted to the girl as she took his father's plate and left the room. He only watched her for a moment before his mind clouded with thoughts of Athelstan's return, the anger he felt renewing itself in strength. He knew it would likely happen much quicker than he would like. His next thought being that his wife was surely anticipating the return of her lover, his finger tightened around the goblet in his hand for a moment.

"What do you plan to tell King Ragnar?" He asked, his gaze moving to his father as he tried to pull his thoughts away from The Monk.

"The truth." Ecbert began simply as he met his son's eyes. "That my deeply religious son was led to the act by the nobles who plotted against the alliance from the beginning and that all have been punished for their part."

"You believe Ragnar Lothbrok will accept your reasons, father?"

"I am prepared to make it worth his while."

"If he does not? Do you not worry about it father? Princess Kwenthrith will seek his help to be shed of you. Ragnar could easily aline himself with her and seek revenge."

"Yes, she could, but I believe Ragnar will want to maintain his friendship with us, even in light of things that have happened and if not he can be dealt with."

"And Athelstan?" Aethelwulf asked no longer able to keep the question from being spoken. His father's gaze changed and became shuttered. "What of him?"

"Will you make him pay for his infidelity with my wife?" Aethelwulf asked after a moment of silence.

"How could I after it was God that brought them together." Aethelwulf's body tightened as the anger inside him threatened to erupt. He shoved his chair back from the table and stalked off.

Ecbert watched his son's angry posture as he stormed away. His mind shifting to Allana. He had for sometime wondered if having her here when Ragnar returned was wise? Truthfully, he didn't know if Ragnar would accept his excuses or not and at the very least he expected Ragnar to have demands and he didn't want the possibility of union between Allana and Ragnar's brother to be brought up again.

Ecbert knew his excuses or excuse for breaking Allana's betrothal to Rollo was thin, nor was he certain Ragnar had completely believed him. He'd told Ragnar and his brother that Allana's Irish Uncle, King Cathel objected. He never sought Cathel's approval, he didn't feel he needed it. Allana was his responsibility she lived with him and he took care of her, but he used it anyway. He hadn't wanted to break their betrothal, despite the things that he and his nobles had witnessed, still seeing Rollo as the best choice of husband for Allana. Alas, the news of the sacrafice had spread quickly throughout the kingdom, reaching the ears of the church itself and he'd had no choice. He had known he'd never be able to force Bishop Edmund to marry them in light of all that had happened. He'd planned, originally, to bide his time and wait for the Northmen to return, then if enough time had passed follow through with his plan, but in the last several months his ideas for his niece and her future had changed and now he felt it would be best to have her far away. Out of sight and out of mind.

* * *

Rollo left his house, tightening his sword belt across his hips as he set out in search of Bjorn. They were supposed to spar this afternoon and work with some of the others. This was normal activity for them at all times but it was imperative that everyone be at their best before they left for Frankia. He hadn't gone far when he saw the crowd gathering before him drawing his attention and saw his brother. He walked through the throng of people, his heavy footsteps sinking into the mud, watching his brother as he carried Athelstan's lifeless body toward the two waiting horses, feeling for his brother. His own emotions over Athelstan's death, after all that had happened were less sorrowful but after Siggy's death he knew all to well what his brother felt.

At one time the priest's death would have been met with more sorrow than simply that of just his brother, but now, today, no one cared. Athelstan had renounced the true Gods and returned to his own and all knew it, including Ragnar. His brother had allowed Athelstan to stay among them and protected him, knowing he built crosses and prayed. Really, Ragnars pain wasn't surprising. Athelstan had never been a simple slave to his brother from the day they'd captured him. Rollo reached him just as Ragnar reached the horses, he didn't say a word just reached out and helped his brother lay the lifeless body over the beast's back. Ragnar's only acknowledgment of his brother's help was a brief meeting of the eyes and nod of his head. Rollo stepped back, his gaze on his brother as Ragnar mounted the other horse and rode off, his mind continuing down its previous trail of thought. Soon life would move forward again with the arrival of Earl Kalf. With his ships and men they would sail for Paris. Bjorn appeared at his side pulling him from his thoughts and Rollo's gaze shifted to his nephew.

Ragnar sat on the ground for sometime staring unseeingly at the makeshift cross he'd erected to mark his friend's grave. The sun made its daily trip through the sky. The sorrow nearly overwhelming. The only emotion greater than the anger he felt. Moisture misted his eyes and his mind wandered. Athelstan was dead but life would move forward, he knew this, the image of another he'd lost long ago entered his head and he saw his daughter. His body tightened at the image of her willowy frame, long hair and smile. He'd long ago forgotten the exact shade of color her eyes were and the tone of her voice. He didn't think of her often these days, but the memory enveloped him as he remembered how much he enjoyed being close to her.

His mind suddenly questioned if he'd find the same comfort in Athelstan's memory in the days and years to come, the silent inquiry echoing thoughts he'd spoken aloud earlier. He knew the answer: no. Unlike Gyda he'd never see Athelstan again. The loss was as keen as that of his daughter, but knowing that, like all his loved ones someday, he'd be reunited with her again had always made it easier.

He knew it was the will of the Gods or Athelstan's God that had taken him, but he had so many plans and always seen his most trusted friend there with him. Even after Athelstan had returned to his own faith he'd seen him at his side, had planned to take him to Paris with him and now he was gone. The anger inside him welled as the knowledge they'd never meet again filled him and his eyes focused on the grave marker, "You weren't supposed to die my friend." Tortured and slightly lost words.

* * *

Allana stepped into the hall and watched as her uncle spoke with two of his nobles, looking up and seeing her, he smiled faintly before he went on. "I assure you we will have this all settled soon." Seeing his words as the dismissal the others left, walking across the hall toward her as she approached, each nodding their heads respectfully when they passed.

"Allana." He greeted, rising from his seat behind his desk as she approached, his eyes on her.

"You wanted to speak to me uncle?" She asked, her stomach churning as her eyes drifted toward the hard surface of his desk.

He approached her, a pleasant expression on his face. "Yes." He said then greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, his hands came up and encircled her biceps. He pulled back looking at her with an affectionate expression, smiling softly before he stepped away and released her, "Sit please." Once she was seated, she met his gaze, after a moment he continued. "Are you happy here," he began, his eyes dropping to his desk- seated now- before he continued, "with me? Judith? Your cousin?"

Allana held her uncle's gaze; uncertain what to say. One time she was but now, now she'd didn't know. Before she could respond, he spoke again, "There's no need to answer." Allana's gaze dropped this time and her cheeks reddened slightly. He didn't continue till their eyes met once more. "I know certain things have bothered you as of late, niece. They haven't been easy for any of us and I know you think ill of me and your cousin." Again Allana had no idea how to respond, her gaze shifting. "I have an idea. I thought that maybe you would like to travel."

"Where?" She asked after a moment, confused.

* * *

**So I know this chapter probably wasn't what you were all expecting. I knew when I started writing this at the beginning of season 3 it could take lots of twists and turns that I wouldn't be able to see beforehand and it's been a challenge to plan this all out, but now that the season over it will be easier for me to write and stick to one plan. And what a season finale!****I know these first few chapters have been a bit on the rough side. I usually only focus on two or three characters at a time and in this story I have all these different view points to cover so it all feels off to me, like I'm rushing through all this stuff I would normally explore to a degree. And on that note, I didn't want to continue to write all these big scenes in the show through flashback only giving a persons reaction after the fact so I wrote out Judith punishment first hand. I know it may not be exactly accurate but I tried my best and I hope it wasn't too tedious to read what some of you have already seen and I hope I did it justice.**

**I hope you all continue to enjoy and read!**


	5. Chapter 2

***SEASON 3 spoiler Alert!***

**The Lady Claire we see in this chapter may seem a little different than how Allana's thoughts made her appear in chapter two. I just wanted to bring that up and let you all know that I see her as an observant woman, but also one that doesn't always think before she speaks.**

* * *

**Couvent de Celistìne, three weeks later.**

* * *

Allana awoke, her eyes instantly coming open, the images of the dream that had wakened her even now fading away. She sat up in her small bed, her heart racing as a vision of her long dead husband flashed before her eyes and she relived small fragments of her nightmare. Unfortunately this wasn't just a dream; the things she saw flash before her eyes had been her reality and those two things merged, making the pictures in her head more vivid than normal. His tall, shadowed frame, hovering over hers. Him whispering don't move, don't make a sound. He held her arms pinned akimbo, his grip almost bruising her sensitive skin. She was pinned to the bed, his breath on her neck. Unconsciously she began rubbing her arm as she pulled her legs to her chest and wrapped the other arm around them. A shudder passed down her spine and her stomach turned.

That had been her wedding night.

Taking a deep breath, she looked around her modest room, willing the rest of the horrible memory from her thoughts.

She'd had these dreams so much as of late, not always like this, but almost every night they kept her awake. Distorted, sometimes grotesque images of her husband; the feeling of helplessness that had been her erstwhile companion in her marriage haunted her as well and generally lingered long after the memories of the man himself had faded.

Her husband wasn't her only nighttime visitor. Her father filled her dreams at times as well; sometimes drenched in blood, practicing the same pagan rite she'd seen practiced in Wessex and other times she was just with him, when sane as well as when insanity gripped him. When she woke from those dreams whether they were horrible or not she felt a keen sense of loss and longed for the comfort of her father's presence.

Other times her dreams had no visible person in them besides her filled with a sense of impending doom. A figure shrouded in mist or being chased through the forest by something she couldn't see. They'd even turned toward the horrors she'd seen in Wessex since the day of Judith's punishment- visions that followed even when the sun was out.

When her uncle had offered to send her away with Lady Claire as a companion it had been a pleasant surprise. She had, in the last several months, grown restless and weary and many things had left a foul taste on her tongue. Truth be told, she wanted away from Wessex and the brutality she'd seen, as well as the questions it left her with. It wasn't just the things that had happened to Judith; it was so much more. The massacre of the Viking settlement that her cousin had led with the aid of several nobles. After the day of the sacrifice Allana's feelings about the Pagans being in Wessex had changed. When Ecbert had first made the treaty that gave King Ragnar the land she'd seen her uncle's move as intelligent- a way to avoid further death and plundering and in ways she still did see it as such, but after that night, her view of the people themselves had morphed. But worse still the anger she'd felt over the accusations made against her father had grown and she'd been glad when King Ragnar and the others had left including Athelstan. Yet still, the knowledge that her cousin with the aid of others had killed women and children all in the name of God left her even more at a loss.

As Christians it was their duty to show the pagans the true path, not lead massacres upon unsuspecting villagers. The fact that Aethelwulf had received no visible punishment for what he'd done and that her uncle seemed unconcerned bothered her as well.

Thoughts of her uncle gave way the ones of the Northmen and she disentangled herself from the blankets, her small bare feet touching the cool flagstone of the floor as she made her way to the window. Two days ago they'd received word that a large number of Viking ships had been spotted off the coast, the word had been brought by a man delivering goods from the market outside of Paris. Allana had been in the kitchen gardens helping several of the novices with the chore of weeding when he'd told the tale. He was unclear as to the particulars, saying some said that they'd ransacked villages and raided abbeys while other reports said that the merely sailed down the coast. Lady Claire had been adamant that they return to Wessex at once and Allana would be lying if she didn't admit at least to herself that the idea of Northmen so close at hand was far more intimidating without the protection of being in her uncle's kingdom. One look at Claire had told her the older woman realized that wasn't a possibility as much as Allana did; if the Northmen were raiding along the coast they'd never make it to Wessex. Allana didn't believe they could plan to raid Paris itself either and she told Claire what she thought, that it would be a fools errand for them to attempt such a feat. Claire hadn't been at all convinced that such a plan was beyond the realm of possibility but she'd seen the truth that they were safer here. Allana assured her that if they needed to leave they'd travel further inland.

Without conscious thought Allana's hand went back to her arm and she continued to rub them, this time in an attempt to ward off the chill. She dismissed her thoughts of the Vikings as she had the unwanted ones of her dreams. She focused her gaze instead on the scene outside the window, her eyes drifting across the sky in search of the moon only to find it had dropped behind the wing of the building opposite her room so now the waning moonlight painted the small private garden below in deep shadow.

The Couvent de Celistìne had been built so this small bower sat directly in its center and all four wings of the building looked down upon it. The nuns spent little time in the space, it soul purpose for people like Allana; those who stayed with them or for those visiting the Abbey on business or such.

As she stood there the first rays of the morning sun, hit the tilted roof of the opposite wing, highlighting its coppery color and illumined the the second story windows, at the sametime a servant scurrying across the garden below caught her eyes. Her gaze stayed with the woman until she was out of sight, not truly seeing her, her mind had shifted to the day ahead. Her uncle had sent letters of introduction to Emperor Charles. Later today Lady Claire and herself were to make the short journey to Paris and be presented to his Imperial majesty.

* * *

Lady Claire stepped out of her room, the heavy gray-blue skirts of her brocade dress brushing against the door frame as she went.

Glad for the distraction this meeting gave her, it kept her mind occupied with something besides the reported sightings of the Northmen of off the coast. She wasn't so certain she shared in Allana's belief that they wouldn't attack Paris, but she did know if the Vikings raided along the coast the chances of them making it to Wessex were greatly diminished.

Now that she herself was ready for their engagement she set out to make sure Allana looked presentable. When Ecbert had summoned her to his villa she hadn't known what to expect, just prayed Allana hadn't decided to return to Ireland. His request had caught her by surprise. He had wanted her to be Allana's companion that part she'd suspected, why else would he call upon her beside to chaperone his niece, but she'd never dreamed he'd be sending them to Frankia. She couldn't help but question why. Oh, Ecbert had given his reason: recent events had been understandably distressing for her and he wanted to do something for her. Ecbert could play the doting uncle all he wanted but Claire didn't trust him at face value and while his excuses may hold a grain of truth they weren't the whole truth, of that she was certain.

Her late sister's husband always had an agenda, every move he made was calculated and had a purpose. She had seen that long ago whilst he was married to her own sister, that wasn't to say he misused her sister at all; he'd treated Edith with the utmost respect, but Claire had lived with them and had, over time seen his truest nature. Under the guise of magnanimous ruler and gracious King he'd pitted nobles one against the other to gain tracts of land he wanted for himself. A campaign of whispers and deceit was what it had been and in the end when the nobles began to fight with each other, raising armies and killing each other's people he'd stepped in. Ecbert had played the part of the noble and just leader beautifully, imprisoning both men; stripping them of their titles and declaring their lands forfeit. He had stated simply that he wouldn't allow any action that would weaken the strength of Wessex as a kingdom and took the land he himself wanted to possess. She never had any evidence to back up what she'd thought, only suspicions and knowledge that the land he'd acquired was rich in minerals.

There had been other questionable instances throughout the year, but the one that stayed first in her mind of late was the massacre of that settlement. She may not reside within Ecbert's court any longer but when one made an alliance with pagans word spread quickly, she had questioned his sanity at the time but things had seemed to workout conveniently in the end. He'd managed to kill the Mercian ruler and put the Princess on the throne with the help of the Northern King and his warriors then shortly after the majority of the Vikings had left the settlement had been attacked. Ecbert had once again stepped in and played the part of King beautifully, making a show of punishing all those who had taken part except for Aethelwulf, imprisoning them then he had them executed as traitors. His final insult was to strip their families of their titles and lands and give them to those loyal to him.

If Ecbert had wanted to send Allana away for herself there were numerous convents throughout England he could have sent her to it was almost as though he wanted the girl completely out of England, but why she had no idea. But what reason he could have for sending Allana to Frankia Claire couldn't imagine, maybe he truly had done it for the girls sake and not with an agenda. She pushed her doubts and thoughts aside focusing instead on Allanas presentation to Emperor Charles.

She finished her short journey down the hall to Allanas room and knocked softly a moment later the door was opened by a maid, the girl stepped back and curtsied slightly. Claire stepped inside, her eyes alighting on Allana where she sat on a stool across the room, her maid putting the finishes touches on the loose chignon she'd woven her dark hair into, then placed the silver circlet on Allanas head. Claire continued her approach, her eyes drifting critically over the rest of Allanas person. She'd helped the princess choose her attire for this moment, after all it was an important one and Ecbert would want his niece to look her best. The emerald velvet of her dress was lovely and complimented her coloring nicely, making the blue of her eyes more asserting and highlighting the rosey glow in her cheeks. And as Allana stood, Claire noticed how well the gown fit her. This dress with its cream colored ties about the wrist and down the back had been amongst the clothing she'd brought to Frankia with them and since their arrival three weeks ago Allana had whiled away many an hour embroidering the cream colored design along the rounded neckline and the bottom of the skirts herself. It was an acceptable pass time for young woman but one Claire wasn't so certain Allana took much enjoyment in, but nevertheless the narrow intricate design was well done.

Allana watched Lady Claire's eyes drift over her person, feeling a little like she was an animal at auction. A small smile played about her lips and lit her eyes, she nearly asked at what price they should start the bidding, but knowing the other woman would find little humor in her attempt at mirth she held her tongue. Lady Claire didn't share Allana's sense of humor on the best day and had become all business for the last day since they'd received word they were to be received at the Frankish court. She told Allana that this was a great honor and as the niece of King Ecbert of Wessex it was up to her to make a good impression of her uncle and do him proud. Allana may only be the daughter of what some saw as a lowly Irish King but she knew her place and how to comport herself in the face of royalty. She hadn't told lady Claire that, she'd simply said she understood what was expected of her. When moments later Claire caught her gaze she wore her own slight smile, her lips poised as if to say something when a knock sounded on the door, a servant stepped inside to announce their carriage was ready.

A short time later Allana found herself in a plain couch, making the short journey through the Frankish countryside toward Paris, watching it roll past. When they crossed the bridge over the Seine and entered the city itself Allana became even more absorbed. She'd seen the city after they'd arrived, but they hadn't entered. The streets seemed packed full of people and their journey slowed, the houses all fit close together and at times appeared to be stacked on top of each other.

She believed her uncle had told her that this city much like his villa in Wessex had been built by the Romans long ago but the palace that housed the royal family was far grander than the villa her uncle lived in. Everywhere she looked the floors were made of marble. The ceilings were vaulted like the structure wasn't a home for men at all but a house built to worship God himself inside of. Windows lined nearly every passage Allana was led down, sometimes high up along the cathedral type ceilings; other times lower down so you could see outside. The light from the windows bathed the halls and chambers in light lending an air of ethereal beauty to the place, it was awe inspiring and no doubt meant to remind the visitor that these halls housed great men with an even greater purposes. Their escort led them down a small flight of stairs and then into the throne room.

The room was filled with people standing about in small groups talking quietly, Allana didn't look directly at any of them, simply held her chin high and acted the part of the princess she was but that didn't mean she failed to see that each seemed to be dressed more grandly than the next, their silks and satins and jewels shimmering in the light. Those present mostly grew still and silent and watched as Allana and Lacy Claire passed.

She took in the sight of the imperial family and those gathered close by, their flat expressions and the coolness of manner with which they conducted themselves, it was an affected manner that only those born to it could achieve and while her own onetime Kingdom and home may be far humbler than theirs her lineage was no less grand. That knowledge over took her and as she approached, she became not only Princess Allana, niece of an English King, but the Irish Princess, born of the Connacht Dynasty and descendent of the Kings of Tara.

They stopped some feet from the lounging emperor and his daughter and the introductions began.

"Princess Allana of Uí Níelll, niece of King Ecbert of Wessex and her companion the Lady Claire."

Allana dropped into a deep curtsey, her eyes downcast, her feature schooled with expected amount of dignity, head bent in respect as she awaited for her cue to rise and lift her gaze. "His imperial highness, Emperor Charles and the Princess Gisla." Allana lifted her eyes nodding to both in respect as she rose, she stepped forward and took the offered hand of the Emperor and kissed it as was expected then stepped back so Lady Claire could do the same.

* * *

"How long will you stay in Frankia?" The Frankish princess asked, drawing Allana's gaze as she took her seat at the table. The offer to dine that had followed her presentation had been unexpected.

"Until the spring." Allana replied politely as she settled into her seat, Ecbert had told her he would send men to fetch her once the ice had melted.

"I believe I may have met your uncle in my youth." The emperor spoke next, drawing Allana's gaze.

"I did not know that." Allana replied politely. Ecbert had never spoken to her of the Emperor directly, besides to tell her his name and that he planned for her to be introduced to the royal family, but it was altogether likely they'd met.

The meal progressed with more banal conversation, the type that custom dictated in such instances. Such superficial topics as the weather, how she liked Frankia and the convent she stayed at, eventually it turned to other things and the words spoken surprised her. Allana never really entertained the idea they could be sailing for Paris itself so when the Emperor asked if she'd heard that the Northmen were sailing up the Seine she was surprised, her surprise growing more when he announced the ships numbered fifty or better and that they believed they were headed for Paris. She knew from speaking with her uncle that Frankia had been plagued by the Vikings in the past, but having seen the city she couldn't imagine that they could think to take it. Before her mind could even absorb the implications of this new knowledge and she could recover from her shook a question came.

"We have heard rumor that the Northern rabble has plagued your own shores recently princess?" The large dark man that had been introduced to her as count Odo asked.

Her attention left the emperor and settled on the man. "Yes. they have." Allana replied.

"It was rumored that your uncle the King made an alliance with them." The emperor spoke before he took a drink of the wine in his goblet and Allana's gaze moved back to him.

"He did." She answered. At his expectant look she lay her fork down beside her plate and continued, "he sought to save his people from ruin."

Odo scoffed at this and said, "I believe it shows a certain lack of strength to give in to these heathens." Drawing Allanas attention from the emperor to himself once more.

"I can assure you Count Odo, my uncle is anything but a weak man. It was here in this very court during the rule of Charlemagne, he first saw these Northmen and their kind. Understood what they were capable of, he sought to save his people from it. So you see it was a tactical move not one of weakness."

The Count scoffed again and his expression stayed impassive but his tone turned to one of vailed condescension as he spoke his next words. "There is only one way to deal with these Pagan beasts: drive them away and give them no quarter."

Allana nodded her head and held his gaze a moment before her eyes drifted across his weathered features, the words and that will be your downfall whispering through her head. Her gaze lifted back to his and when she spoke she chose her words carefully not wanting to argue or insult the man. "These men are not to be taken lightly, don't misjudge them and think them all beasts for they are not all what you think. I don't know who it is that sails up the Seine but If King Ragnar leads these men, know this: he is intelligent and driven by what he sees as the will of his Gods and will stop at nothing to gain what it is he wants. You may manage to protect your city against them but that won't stop them from decimating what lies outside your walls."

"What do you mean the will of his Gods?" Princess Gisla interjected, drawing Allana's gaze from the presumptuous Count. However before Allana could respond to the Princess the Count spoke again, "To hear you speak of them one might think you respect them my lady." Meeting his gaze head on, her spine stiffening, she heard the tone of his voice, faintly accusing and laced with vain, mocking, superiority. At this time Allana felt a slight tap against her leg and her gaze turned to the left where Lady Claire sat she gave Allana a censoring look, she gave her a faint reassuring smile and turned her eyes back to the Count.

"I respect what they are capable of," her mind finishing the statement she didn't speak and you would be a fool not to, she said instead, "I've seen the outcome of war with these men; I've tended Christian soldiers wounded by their hands. I've heard the stories of how they fight and their lack of fear, of the innocent loss of life and the destruction that follows them. I would be a fool not to." The count looked as though her words held little weight in his eyes. Fool her mind whispered.

For remainder of dinner the conversation drifted away from the Northmen. Claire had whispered agitatedly after the conversation about the Northmen had ended that they must leave Frankia or the region as soon as possible and Allana knew she was right.

* * *

Rollo laid back on his furs, arms folded behind his head, his eyes on the stars overhead. The night was clear and beautiful, the rocking of the longboat beneath him would have normally lulled him, but his thoughts were occupied elsewhere. Soon they would reach Paris that knowledgeable made that heightened sense of anticipation he'd felt grow.

* * *

**Ok so, I have something I'd like to say. I really like Gisla and I think she will be a great addition to the cast. And when I'm writing fanfiction, (I have two profiles as a few of you already know,) I have a cardinal rule: I don't break up cannon relationships. I don't like it and I think it messes with the existing story too much unless you are cutting them completely out and going full on AU with the writing that is, but I have a hard time doing that. That being said, what I say next will be a bit contradictory. I plan to write Gisla, I like her enough I can't leave her out, but I also plan to follow Allana's story.**

**As you've all likely noticed by this point there is a key similarity in my story and the show. A princess. Haha! The remainder of this story may take me sometime to write and I won't be doing all the writing myself. My amazing beta has offered to help!**

**There are scenes between Rollo and Gisla it is tempting to steal, but I will refrain as much as possible and keep my content as original as I can.**

**I guess the only reason for this note is it's important to me that you guys know what I'm thinking. I plan for the writing to flow much more smoothly and become more of a story than it has been from here on out! Haha!**

**And as always, thanks so much for all the support and I hope you all enjoy and continue to read!**


	6. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! I'm sorry it's taken me three weeks to update, but I've been really busy and had a really difficult time with one particular part of this chapter! Anyway, enough with the excuses! Haha! So I received a review last chapter where it was mentioned that this is an M rated story with very little M rated content so far and I'd thought I'd just let you all know it will turn to M rated very soon!**

**And as always, thank you all much for the reviews, favs and follows!**

* * *

**Paris**

* * *

The bodies of the dead lay all around the banks of Paris; some pulled from the shore by the current of the Seine to float away. Other's had fallen to the ground, some fell into the deep, murky water sinking under the force of the collision only to drift to the top again some distance away.

A heavy silence had fallen, despite the clanging of steel against steel as the few remaining Northmen were driven from the ramparts. Ragnar had climbed the ladder to aid his son, Bjorn was there one minute and gone the next. Ragnar's own efforts against the soldiers of Paris were thwarted and he was thrown from the wall and then silence truly descended. The image that filled his head wasn't that of his family, but that of Flocki's cowardice: concealing himself behind some of the ladders, he hid while his brothers fell from above. Searing pain tore through his body as his back connected with something solid before he fell the rest of their way to their ground, landing on his stomach and the world went black.

Night was beginning to fall when he opened his eyes, ignoring the pain wrecking his body his gaze instantly searched for his son. Bjorn lay only a few feet away on his back, his head turned away and Ragnar crawled toward him. Unwilling to believe the Gods hadn't protected him as they'd promised so long ago, but nevertheless fear gripped him until he saw proof his son drew breath. Ragnar himself dragged Bjorn to a boat and returned with a few of the others who had survived.

He stayed with him, ignoring his own pain, he sat nearby and watched as the healer tended him and was there as Lagertha spoke and made the biting remark that she needed to treat their son as a man. He'd watched as Rollo entered the tent as well, kneeling down close to Lagertha and touching Bjorns head.

The people of Paris would pay for this defeat. He would bring them to their knees. The vengeance he felt wasn't just for the Franks and the events of the day. He would bring them all to their knees, everyone that had crossed him. He would bring Ecbert down as well, someday he would make him pay for his lies and duplicity, but first Flocki would pay for his failure and all he'd done, he already was.

Ragnar had given him this chance and welcomed him back into his good graces for one reason: he wanted Flocki confused and afraid. Despite Flocki's towers he hadn't expected to take the city in the first attack, he had expected Flockis grand scheme to fail. Ragnar had needed a better idea of what he was up against and to allow those who dwelled within the walls to think themselves the victors. He knew it would work and it needed to be done, but he hadn't expected this outcome. Hundreds dead and wounded.

But it would work to their advantage the Franks would expect them to lick their wounds not for another attack as swiftly as it would come.

* * *

**Abbaye-Sainte-Geneviève several hours east of Paris**

* * *

Allana was woken by a servant and summoned to the hall, before dawn. She wasn't even given time to dress, simply told to hurry there was a messenger from the Emperor himself awaiting her downstairs. She quickly climbed from bed, pausing only long enough to put on her robe over her nightdress, run her fingers through her hair and followed the agitated girl down the darkened corridors to the hall. Questions filled her head as to what this man could want. Not the least of which was why he would send someone this far from Paris to find her.

Roland waited patiently, choosing to stand rather than taking the chair the abbess had offered him before she left. He'd spent nearly five hours in the saddle on his journey here so instead he took the opportunity to stretch his legs. The abbess reappeared again moments later with refreshment and some bread and cheese, telling him as she handed him a goblet of water she'd sent drinks and food to his men as well.

He'd left the three men that had accompanied him outside as their horses were changed for fresh mounts. It wasn't long and the sound of hurried footstep greeted him and as he turned the Princess stepped into view, he was momentarily surprised to find her in her night clothes, her hair unbound and some of the color drained from his face.. "Pardon the intrusion my lady. My name is Roland." He began by way of apology, his cheeks flushed and she noticed even with the poor lighting in the hall. Allana nodded slightly in acknowledgment and he continued. "The Emperor sent us to escort you to Paris.".

"Why would Emperor Charles wish me in Paris?" She asked after a moment. It hadn't occurred to her this could be a summons, she was certain her surprise could be heard in her voice.

"It is King Ragnar that attacks us and the Emperor has requested your presence." The news that it was indeed Ragnar Lothbrok that attacked Paris wasn't really surprising nor was it reassuring. If she was to pick between the devil she knew and the devil she didn't she wasn't certain what choice she'd make in this instance and had even less an idea of what use she could be to Emporer.

Her gaze shifted from the man to the abbess and then back again before she asked "And if I should fail to accept this request?" She watched him for only a moment, his countenance spoke volumes where words seemed to fail him.

"Very well. When do we need to depart?" He appeared to relax after she'd spoken, no doubt he liked the idea of her compliance better than the alternative.

"As soon as possible your highness."

Allana left Roland and the abbess alone in the hall and hurried back to her room. She'd requested before she left that Lady Claire be waked. The anxiousness that she had felt when she was summoned to the hall had changed as the request had been delivered and grew into something else as the man, Roland had told her it was Ragnar Lothbrok that attacked the city and remained along with so many questions as she stepped inside her room and walked to her chest opened it and pulled out the first dress and shift she saw.

The irony of the situation wasn't lost on her. She had traveled to this Abbey several hours away to escape the whatever fate might await the people of Paris and the lands nearby and now she was summoned back.

What could his imperial highness want from her? The question bounced around inside her head and made that unease tighten her stomach more as she shed her robe and changed from her night shift. She had no knowledge to give him only the wisdom she'd imparted as they'd supped nearly a week past. The only logical thing she could see was her being the niece of Ecbert of Wessex the man that had made an ally of the Viking King gave her some value, but what she still didn't know. Perhaps as an envoy? her mind suggested.

The door opened and Claire stepped inside an apprehensive look in her grey blue eyes and creasing her brow. "What is it?" Claire watching as Allana's arm slid under her hair, at the back of her neck and pulled it free of the laces of the gown shed just dropped over here. "I have been summoned to Paris." Allana watched the surprise than worry that lit the older woman's features, making the lines around her eyes deepen. "Why?"

"It is King Ragnar that attacks the city." Allana held her gaze as she spoke and saw the color drained from her cheeks.

"What use could you be to them?" Claire asked next, disbelief hitting her, she began to wring her hands in front of her as a horrible feeling settled into her stomach. Seeing the older woman's agitation Allana began to move closer. "Im uncertain." She answered honestly, keeping her earlier thought of just moments ago to herself.

"You must refuse." Claire announced next, her voice growing more fevered with each statement. "You know what these men are capable of child. Look at the things they've done. Lindisfarne. Those poor monks. The towns they've pillaged.." Allana touched her hands, taking them in hers. "My consent is not needed." Allana reasoned, softly.

"They cannot. You are..." Her words trailed off as she saw the look of resignation on Allana's face. "Very well then. I will go with you."

"No."

* * *

Allana mounted her horse then looked back at Claire. The older woman stood on the steps of the Abbey, her worried gaze on Allana. The early morning sun highlighting the grey streaks in her wheat colored hair that she'd left to hang about her shoulders. It felt a bit odd that in a moment such as this it would hit Allana that she'd never seen her companion in such a disheveled state before, hair loose, gown donned so hastily the ties on the sleeves were left undone. Claire's attire and hair were usually neat as a pin, ever looking the part of the Lady, but not today, the sight lent further credence to the woman's anxious state.

Her unkept appearance wasn't the only thing different this morning. This woman was given to verbal fits of speaking her mind, at times not even thinking about who was listening and when Allana had told her she'd been summoned earlier she had done just that, telling her she must refuse to go when they both knew that wasn't an option, but after Allana had told to her that she wouldn't allow her to come she had been subdued.

The thought of returning to Paris made her nervous, much more than she was willing to admit, but allowing Claire to risk her own safety when she hadn't been summoned and her predisposed nature to the aforementioned verbal fits-had compelled Allana to say no. Allana was also smart enough to know if she told Claire it was her safety she worried over Claire would force it, instead Allana told her she would only slow them down. Those words were the truth. They were to travel on horseback and while Claire rode horses, she wouldn't be able to keep up on this ride. But even so Allana didn't enjoy the idea of hurting the older woman's feelings in anyway, since they'd embarked on this journey and arrived in Frankia Allana had come to enjoy the older woman's company.

"Be careful." Claire said, her voice laced with the same emotions visible on her face and Allana left her thoughts behind. She smiled as best as she could and said simply "I will see you soon," before she turned around and rode away.

They rode for three hours as best as she could tell before they stopped. The journey had been at a fast pace over harsh terrain. They hadn't followed the main road, instead taking what Allana figured was a more direct route through the woods, following game trails and foot paths. The man in charge, Roland, stopped them near a small stream, the spot hidden and secluded.

After he'd announced his plan for them to stop here for awhile and she'd dismounted, she moved toward him asking, "how far before we reach Paris?" She'd asked the question in an attempt to quiet her apprehension.

"Two hours or a little less." He answered, meeting her gaze as he offered her a bladder of water. Allana accepted the offer, her eyes traveling about as she opened it, wiped the mouth and drank.

"How will we enter if the city is under attack?" She asked next as she lowered the flask from her lips. The question of how they would get inside had been on her mind for sometime now and while it fed her apprehension it was a question she couldn't leave unspoken.

"If that is the case we will fall back and wait for it to end, my lady." He said, his dark gaze holding hers. As if sensing her next question he spoke again. "If the Northmen aren't in the proximity we will signal the tower and ride to the gates."

"Couldn't they be hiding somewhere nearby?" She asked next, her over active mind jumping from one potential problem to the next.

"We will protect you my lady." He stated, putting emphasis on the word will. The words were a surprise in ways, that wasn't to say she wasn't worried about her own safety, but the focus of her thoughts had been more about how they'd gain access. She held his dark gaze and nodded her head.

The camp grew silent. After that no one spoke, the air around them charged. It affected them all and in that brief time they rested unease and anxiousness coiled in her stomach and turned to something close to fear and she found herself wishing they were inside of Paris already. Shoving these dark feeling aside she concentrated on the Emporer instead.

She'd had much time to contemplate this bold move since they'd left the Abbey behind and the only answer she could come up with was the Emperor was afraid and he should be, but she still didn't know of what use she could be to him.

* * *

Claire paced angrily back and forth along the length of her small private chamber. The first thing she'd done after Allana had rode away was begin to comprise a letter to Ecbert. She'd known even as she'd written to him of the events of this morning there was no way for the missive too reach him. If Allana was of the same standing and illustrious birth of the Frankian princess, men would ride to their deaths for her but no one would risk their life to get word of what they'd see a lowly Irish Princesses plight to her uncle. That fact hadn't stayed the quill in her hand and her thoughts and outrage about the situation were visible in her hastily scribbled text. As she'd written another thought had entered her head and this one had stayed her hand.

When she'd first set down, quill in hand, the words she'd written had been laced with the outraged she felt, voicing her anger the disbelief. But as she'd written she'd realized Ecbert could very well not share her feelings on the matter. If Allana proved to be of some use to the Emperor Ecbert would likely see this as an opportunity to ingratiate himself with the Frankian nobles. There was no doubt in Claire's mind about that thought. She'd stood from her desk leaving the correspondence unfinished, knowing even as she left the missive that she'd need to send word as soon as she could.

* * *

Allana and her escort were within ten miles of the city and the forest had began to thin as it gave way to the open lands used for farming. This part of the countryside would normally be a buzz with activity. Now however, with the presence of the Northmen in the vicinity, the fields were left unattended the few small farms they passed empty. Not long after they passed near the first farm Roland had sent one of his men out to scout the road ahead. He still kept them under the of trees as much as possible only crossing the pastures and fields when necessity made it the only option. The very air around them seemed to grow still the closer they traveled toward the city. Her escort growing ever warier and watchful and time seemed to pass with agonizing slowness. Allana wasn't immune to the tension, it grew inside her, her heartbeat picking up tempo, anxiousness permeating her body. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself the weary, ever watchfulness of the Frankian soldiers was an act born of caution. Still it rattled her already over worked nerves more. Allana's gaze ran superstitiously along their surroundings as well, her hearing sharper than normal as her ears strained for the slightest foreign sound.

Then it began, the events moving so quickly she hardly had time to grasp what was happening. At first it was a noise, a low familiar whistling sound that caught her attention, her heart beat picked up as she recognized the noise. Her panicked gaze searching the tree line moments before the source of the noise made itself known. In the form of an arrow, it pierced the neck on the soldier in front of her, not stopping till the shaft and head had traveled completely through his flesh, she watched frozen as the man fell from his horse. Panic seized her and her gaze shot to Roland as he drew his sword and commanded "protect the princess,"

For a fraction of a second all went quiet and then came a blood curling yell, the sound snapped Allana from her building panic and her gaze shifted back to the trees. The sound of something crashing through the bushes toward them instantly followed the bellow. Within a second the first of their attackers broke from the trees and ran toward Roland, sword raised. Her gaze met Roland briefly and he hollered run as more crashed through the brush.

She spurred her horse but didn't make it further than a few feet before someone caught her about the waist and then she was falling, she landed on the ground sharply the rocks under her biting into her soft flesh, she immediately snapped into action. Her eyes traveled upward as she tried to scoot away, the rocks under her hands cutting into the them. His dark beard was long and shaggy and hung in two separate braids, his features wizened with age, his blue eyes leered down at her and the panic inside her grew again as she held his eyes, the look she found there more terrifying than anything she'd ever seen before and she couldn't look away. Somehow the words came to her, from where she didn't know, she didn't think them they just left her lips, "take me to King Ragnar." He looked at her curiously for a moment then reached for her, terror shot through her again and she scooted further back along the ground. The man laughed as if amused, his gaze shifting from her to something behind her and Allana collided with something solid as she was grabbed by the hair and yanked to her feet then began dragging her, only just realizing there wasn't any noise besides that made by her and the man dragging her, she twisted against his hand as she stumbled along beside him, the action making his grip on her hair more painful than it already was. She searched for any evidence of her escort. The one named Roland lay on his back several feet away, unmoving, another lay close to him, blood oozing from a wound in his chest, it pooled on the ground under his body. The mans lifeless eyes where on her, and seemed to follow her as she moved.

Allana pulled her gaze away and saw the other he was on his knees a few feet away, his gaze on the ground as he waited for death, his body shaking. She watched his as best she could as she was dragged in that direction willing him to lift his head and meet her gaze. Panic began rising in her once more, she struggled against her captor, stubbornly dragging her feet even though the pain was nearly blinding. Help me, she prayed silently as the man yanked cruelly on her hair once more.

Her mind focused on the little of their tongue she'd picked up from her uncle and Athelstan.

"Før mig Kong Ragnar." She said and the man dragging her stilled, she twisted in his grip, the movement tugging painfully on her hair, she repeated, meeting his eyes, her voice more forceful. "Før mig Kong Ragnar." The man's grip in her slackened more as the others approached and they spoke amongst themselves. The man who held hers gaze shifting between her and the others as he spoke to so quickly she couldn't understand anything he said.

"Familia, Kong Ecbert. Wessex." She encouraged hoping again that at least part of the words she spoke were correct. She repeated the statement again gesturing toward her chest with her hands. After more conversation she couldn't understand, the man's grip fell from her hair, his hand moving to her arm. He met her gaze, briefly, nodding his head. He continued to propel her forward, his grip on her only slightly less painful than his previous hold on her hair had been, he stopped abruptly causing her to stumble again. They now stood just yards away from the Frankian soldier. Panic entered her again as she realized what was about to happen him.

"No," she screamed, struggling against the one that held her in his grip, she pulled against him watching in horror as another severed the head of the kneeling soldiers from his body with an ax. Her body stiffening, horror filling her as she watched his head fall to the ground and blood pour from the stump where it used to be, then rolled toward her, stopping when it collided with a rock just a foot away. She faintly heard the sound of voices over the ringing in her ears, the sound growing more insistent and the man who held her tugged on her arm roughly. Her gaze moved to his profile and stayed there as he began moving toward one of the horses. Allana stumbled along beside him, to shocked about what she'd just witnessed to do little else. The man paused long enough to bind her wrists and then lifted her and placed her atop the horse. She turned in her saddle, craning her neck so she could see the lifeless franks on the ground behind her as her horse was led away. When she could no longer see them, her eyes focused on the binding around her wrists. They hadn't needed to tie her she had asked that they take her to King Ragnar.. They hadn't needed to execute that man either, but they had.

The sounds of the Viking encampment could be heard long before it came into view and noise only heightened the horrible feelings mixing inside her. She no longer felt relief that the men who'd attacked them had been able to understand her words, she didn't know what to feel. Her words had saved her, but not the remaining man guarding her. She'd been spared only to watch helplessly as he was butchered. She did understand that this was war and she knew exactly what it meant to be at war, she also knew that the Franks would have l done the same to any Northmen they'd happened across.

The camp began to materialize moments later, her eyes immediately started drifting over the people that stopped what they were doing to stare at her as she was led past, searching those faces for any she might recognize. It wasn't until they reached the heart of the camp that she found one, her eyes briefly passed over him before they shot back. It was King Ragnars son. His name, she couldn't remember, but his face, she did, her gaze stayed with him as he walked toward her. The look on his face curious and surprised, then growing darker as his gaze drifted over her and stopped on her bound wrists. He spoke to the men who'd brought her, then looked away long enough to say something to another who quickly disappeared. They stopped a few feet away and the next thing Allana knew, a set of hands grabbed her roughly around the waist and pulled her from her mount, the action startled her, as did the knife he produced next and used to cut her bindings.

Ragnar had been resting when the man opened his tent flap and told him his son requested his presence. He'd carefully sat up as searing pain left from his injury tore at his body. He gained his feet only after a short pause asking "is it the Franks?"

"No King Ragnar it's a woman that the hunting party brought back with them."

"A woman?" Ragnar asked, a surprised smirk pulling at his lips, and lighting his eyes, his eyebrows lifting slightly. Not at all what he was expecting. Whatever his next thoughts might have been quickly left when he opened the tent flap and real surprise hit him. This wasn't just any woman and he was more than a little shocked to find her here. He limped toward them after a moment, his hand settling against his abdomen, in an attempt to help with the pain that accompanied his every movement.

When Allana's gaze returned to King Ragnar's son, Lagertha was approaching; eyes drifting from Allana to Bjorn. Her questioning gaze moved back to Allana and she said, "princess." The word held a multitude of questions but before she could respond another voice spoke, the word exactly the same as Lagertha's, full of question and maybe a hint of disbelief.

Rollo first caught a glimpse of her through the trees. Her dark hair hanging in the remnants of a braid, her profile visible to him. It was just a quick glimpse, but enough to make him question his vision. It couldn't be her, his mind assured him. Hed followed the growing crowd as many left what they were doing behind to see who this strange woman was, his eyes staying on her, where she sat perched atop her mount, her back to him. He pushed through the crowd, but didn't approach her as Bjorn did. Instead he watched as she was roughly dragged from her mount and then cut free, catching bits and pieces of the tale her captors told Bjorn about why she was here. "Princess." Ragnar spoke drawing his attention.

Allana turned her head to find King Ragnar walking toward her, the look his eyes held she didn't know the name for, but as the surprise faded something else entered them.

"King Ragnar." She said, her wary nerves let go of some of the tension inside her as he approached and she quickly noted that he was injured and it only took a moment more for her to see it was serious.

Bjorn spoke drawing her gaze away from his father, his speech too rapid for her to pick out any words she might know, but she assumed he answered the question for her. After Bjorn had finished talking, Ragnar's gaze returned to her briefly, before he turned his attention to the men that captured her. After another small conversation, Ragnar turned back to her and he spoke again only this time in her own tongue. "Come," he said and took one halting step to the side and gestured for her to walk with him. Allana followed beside him keeping pace. Her first instinct was to hide her face from those still gawking at her, but she quelled the impulse instantly raising her chin and meeting the gazes of those staring at her so rudely.

Rollo watched the Princess walk away beside his brother, noticing even from his vantage point several feet away how her spine seemed to stiffen and she lifted her chin as his people watched her, the look that settled onto her face reminded him of the way she'd looked at him the night they met: cool and aloof. She disappeared inside the tent followed by his brother and impulse kicked in. He wanted to follow them; wanted to demand she tell him why she was here of all places but he wasn't invited, no one was.


	7. Chapter 4

**Thanks so much for all the feedback yet again! I'm grateful especially given the mess this story has been thus far. I called in an author not from this fandom to help me figure out what my problem was and she did. It reads like a bards tale a HIGHLY confusing bards tale if you don't know the fandom! Haha! Sorry to anyone one else that's experienced the same thing and may have stuck around, my bad!**

**That being said I want to let you all know I will be going back and doing some work on my previous chapters so they aren't so confusing to those that haven't watched season three! I believe this story is starting to come together better and is more like that, a story rather than a season three highlight reel. A poorly done highlight reel at that... **

**I did it that way because writing this story was a lot like the blind leading the blind. I tried to write things not knowing what the season held for us all. I now have a plan I can pretty much stick with and incredible group of people willing to help, with the confusion of thoughts that are my mind! Haha! So there's lots of personal thanks going out to each and everyone of you and you know who you are! Seriously though, I couldn't have worked my way through the irritation I was feeling without each of your honesty and support!**

**On another note, I am going to be pretty busy for the next month and a half. I have family coming to visit and I'm going away. My next chapter is already started and I maybe able to finish it in that time, but I just thought I'd give you all a heads up!**

**and to my GOT friend! I'm still giggling about a roll of duct tape, hoola hoop and three strawberries!**

* * *

Rollo stood there, but a few moments more, looking at his brother's tent; vaguely aware that the crowd had begun to melt away around him, taking their curious whispers with them as they went back to whatever it was that they'd been doing beforehand.

He had been playing dice with some of the others when she'd arrived in camp, winning, but now he had little interest in returning to the game or his companions. Instead, he made his way towards his own tent- mood black- after initial surprise of her arrival had faded away. He still wanted to demand she tell him what she was doing here. It was an increasingly tempting thought to turn around and go back to Ragnar's tent, but his brother wouldn't welcome the interruption that he knew, and like always, everyone obeyed Ragnar's command.

A voice whispered softly through his head a moment later, "I've been sent here to remind you of who you are."

"The Gods must find some pleasure in mocking you" the voice whispered a second later.

"The great Rollo", it mocked and his mood blackened more as memories assailed him, in the form of faces. Siggy's stuck with him the longest, but eventually turned into an image of the princess as she'd ridden into camp today and his anger grew, centering on her as her uncle's face joined her own and the hatred he'd felt when Ecbert changed his mind came back, hands tightening into fists. He'd never given Siggy a thought when he'd accepted the offer to marry the girl, angry with her for the words she'd spoken to him the night of Horrick's demise. He couldn't remember the exact wording of the question he'd asked that night -something akin to why do you stay. Her answer however was a much clearer memory, "because Rollo, I keep thinking you may be of some use to me."

He'd wanted to hurt her, he told her long ago, he'd be a great man someday and he'd thought it was finally happening. He still hadn't spared her a thought after Ecbert had withdrawn the offer, but when he returned to find her dead, he'd hated himself. That self-hatred hit him again along with the memory and mingled with the dark mood looming over him.

He reached his tent quickly, aware he'd received many curious looks on his way here. It fueled the darkness growing inside him more. He stepped inside, his gaze makings its normal sweep of his surrounding, but his eyes were unseeing as he traveled toward the table near its center and picked up his sword belt, fastening it around his waist.

The Seer's words came back to him as he grabbed his axe and shoved it into his belt as well. those words had been constant companions over the last several months and for some time now they'd filled him with a strange feeling; one of a calm sort of anticipation, like something awaited him just over the horizon and since they'd left Kattegat he'd felt if he just looked a little harder, he'd find it.

But at the moment his response to the memory was similar to the one the day those words had been said to him: doubt. He would never be more than what he was and the sudden appearance of her only made him feel that truth more.

* * *

Kalf appeared at Lagertha's side, she had just turned and began to walk off after Ragnar disappeared inside his tent with the Irish Princess. "Who is she?" Kalf asked, curiously. "Princess Allana, King Ecbert's niece."

"What do they speak of?" He inquired, gazing intently to where the foreign beauty had disappeared to.

"I don't know Kalf, I can only assume Ragnar wants to know why she's here and why she was traveling with the Emperor's men." She answered without looking at him as she continued to walk.

"If this involves Paris shouldn't we all be in there?" He asked next.

"Ragnar will tell us if there's anything we need to know." Lagertha assured him.

"Are you sure of that?" Hearing the doubt in his voice, Lagertha felt herself bristle. She knew all too well Ragnar Lothbrok kept secrets and often times only shared so much and didn't always do what he promised, but in this she would trust him. "Yes."

* * *

Ragnar observed the princess as he had been doing since he'd first laid eyes on her, shifting his stance to try and lessen some of the pain gripping his body. She'd explained as best as she could why she had been with the Frankish soldiers. He couldn't fathom what use the Emperor and this Count Odo thought she would be to them, but it did tell him one thing: they were weakening under the unspoken threat of further attack. The knowledge brought a slight smirk to his lips, despite the pain.

"What news of my settlement?" He asked, his voice conversational as his thoughts shifted to the real questions he was curious about.

Allana paused, for the first time since she'd stepped into this tent, uncertain. She held his gaze for a half a second more before speaking as that uncertainty chased away the relief shed felt when she saw him earlier. He watched her as well, expectantly, his gaze inquisitive but there was also something more. This was a question she was not keen to answer. Taking a deep breath, she opted to tell the truth, holding his gaze, her tone low, she said. "I'm sorry King Ragnar, your people are all dead." The tension filling her heightened as the expression on his face darkened. Instantly her nerves danced again- intensifying as she noticed that something more in his eyes grow as well.

"What happened?" He asked next, his voice laced with darkness despite the evenness of his tone.

It was an understandable question as was the edge to his voice, but still it made her already racing heart beat pick up tempo and she knew she had to answer, but for a moment she did not, her gaze dropping as her own unease about what truly befell his people entered her head. She shoved the feeling away and meeting his gaze she began. "I'm not entirely sure. There were problems. Disquiet..." She trailed off, her gaze dropping again more unsure now than seconds ago, her heart pounded harder.

She heard him move closer, soft grunt's of pain punctuating his movements every so often, he asked,his voice icy. "What do you mean, disquiet?." Allana gaze shifted back to his face and her heart pounded even faster, thumping painfully against her ribs. His gaze, equally as cold as his voice had been, seemed to burn with something barely contained. She swallowed hard, he stood closer now, that combined with the look in his eyes made her building anxiety changed as she felt a trickle of fear drop into her stomach.

She made herself continue anyway. "Fights. I believe local farmers had been harassing your people." She paused and shook her head, her gaze dropping for a brief moment before it came back to his and she continued. "My uncle sent a small force." Pausing again, her gaze dropped. Despite her irritation with her cousin or her own suspicions or the look in his eyes she was unwilling to give his name or voice her own thoughts, so she continued carefully, her gaze lifting and meeting his cold one once more. "Nobles and a few soldiers to settle these disputes." Ragnar sat back, his gaze drifting over her. "Who led this force?"

Swallowing harshly, she spoke yet again what she hadn't wanted to. "My cousin, Aethelwulf." Ragnar stepped back, his gaze on her, smiling faintly, but the action didn't diminish the menace in his countenance, the mirthless look only added to it. "A force of men placed under the command of your cousin massacred my people?" Allana didn't answer, the question didn't need one, her gaze dropped.

Ragnar watched her closely, if she knew more she hid it well. And too often women hid themselves behind a guise of innocence. He had no idea what her honest face looked like, but if she was like her uncle she was a master. Some small voice inside him spoke telling him Athelstan would believe her innocence and wouldn't approve of the plans already forming in his head, the image of his dead friend only angered him more.

As he continued to look at her the idea of letting her continue on her journey or return to where it was she'd came from never even crossed his mind. Some force had delivered her to him, be it the Gods of his people or another and he wasn't about to miss the opportunity. "You will stay here. As our guest." Allana heard his words, despite the lightness of his tone her stomach flipped sickly as her gaze shot back to his, words of protest on the tip of her tongue till she met his gaze. The look in his expressive blue eyes, broke no argument, his gaze searched her own for a moment then he added, "For now." With that he slowly turned, his hand on his abdomen ounce more and walked away, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

* * *

It was Bjorn's call that made Rollo approach the camp fire where his nephew sat in the company of Lagertha, Helga, and Kalf. His heavy steps crunched the pine needles under his feet as he closed the distance a mug of mead resting in his right hand, gaze doing a quick search of the people present as he moved closer. Ragnar had taxed his son with the chore of watching the princess earlier and that quick glance told him she wasn't among them. Part of him was glad she wasn't, another suddenly irritated by the evidence of her absence. His gaze quickly shifted to the tent.

Firelight bathed it in its red glow and cast shadows on the ground surrounding it. She was in there.

Ragnar was keeping her with them for now and that irritated him more. As far as Rollo was concerned, his brother should just send her back from where she came. He lifted his mug to his lips, draining the rest of its contents, diminishing the remaining earthy taste of the mushrooms he'd been eating. He sat down on a stump of unsplit firewood, stretching his legs out in front of him. His eyes shifted from the tent to Bjorn and he reached out taking the pitcher of mead his nephew offered, filling his cup once more. The effects of the mushrooms already making his body feel heavy and at the same time light.

Allana had awoken sometime ago, disoriented at first, her ears filled with the sound of people talking and the occasional burst of laughter. Looking around the darkened tent she'd remember quickly where she was and why. The images of the dead soldiers filled her head and for a moment she recalled the grotesque sight of one of nameless men's heads rolling toward her, bouncing slightly as it came. She shifted under the soft, heavy furs she lay cocooned inside of and sat up, her hands went to her hair as her stomach turned.

She was to stay here.

It was King Ragnar's wish and one she knew she had little say in and found that her emotions shifted between disbelief to anger to fear.

For the second time today an order had been given no matter how it was voiced and she was expected to do as the one delivering it wanted. And she wondered if it made her a captive or a guest.

The fear she had felt that was now quickly coming back had come from the suspicions she'd long harbored about the true fate of the Viking settlement. None of it made sense to her. She didn't know her cousin well, they had never been close, but Aethelwulf always did as his father bade him do in all things. The reason her uncle gave for Aethelwulf's behavior was that he was a deeply religious man and that the nobles had used that fact to convince him to do what he did. That being said Allana might not have questioned if she didn't know that Aethelwulf's piety ran as deeply as it did, he lived his life by the commandments and among them was honor thy mother and thy father. And if her suspicions were true or not and Ragnar found or suspected what would that mean for her.

The uncertainty left from not knowing the answer to that question made her stomach turn sharply once more. She quickly shoved the anxiety away, reminding herself there was no way he could know nor a reason he would suspect the things she herself questioned. Why would he after all, Ragnar and his men had held up their end of the bargain in helping Princess Kwenthrith claim her throne so he would expect her uncle to do the same, she assured herself. But, another voice began in contradiction, Ragnar Lothbrok was no more of a fool than your uncle and if he has even the slightest suspicions, you could be in trouble. What will you do then?

Taking a shaky breath, she reached up, pulling the tie that had held her braid together this morning away and then ran her fingers through the tangled mess as she stared into the scant embers of dying fire. Refusing to allow her mind to create a problem,she wasn't sure existed, that little voice come back stating, that's all fine and good, but don't be a fool, Allana. I have no plans of being a fool she answered silently.

The voice quieted and she found herself wondering, be she guest or captive, what she was to do now that she'd awoken. She'd been shown to this tent not far from King Ragnars, by a short woman with intricately braided hair not long after King Ragnar left her alone. She'd asked the woman for some water to wash with, knowing before she spoke it was highly unlikely she would be able to understand her so the small woman's curious look wasn't surprising. When the woman left it had fueled that captive, helpless feeling Allana had, she contemplated leaving the tent to find the water herself, but exhaustion had been setting in so she'd decided to sleep instead.

The front of her tent was illuminated with a red glow from the fire beyond and those dancing shadows drew her gaze and the smell of roasted venison and smoke filled her nostrils as she left the memory behind. Her stomach, at least, apparently knew how it felt, growling at the smell. It growled again seconds later reminding her she hadn't eaten since much earlier today and that had only been salted meat from a stag and a small portion of bread.

The movement of the tent flap lifting drew Rollos gaze first, stopping the laughter that was on his lips, his gaze stayed fixed at that point as someone stepped outside. No, not someone. Her. His mind, slightly slowed by the effects of the mushroom corrected moments later. She was mostly hidden by the odd play of shadow dancing across her and for a moment that was what he saw as he stared transfixed, the shifting firelight and shadow that seemed to dance about her, painting her plum colored skirts in a red light one second and deep shadow the next. She paused for a moment, long enough for him to notice she wasn't moving, he lifted his own gaze to find her looking directly at him.

Allana decided she was hungry enough to venture outside, the heavy material of the tents flap slipping past her as she went, her gaze instantly sought the fire that bathed her tent in its flickering red-gold glow. There were five people sitting around it, she quickly noted, immediately she recognized the back of Ragnar's sons partially shaven head and some of the apprehension she felt left her. She began to move then she saw him sitting there as well and she paused. The fire light illuminated his face well, his heavy brow, thick, dark beard, deep set eyes, and large nose, there was no mistaking it.

It made sense that she would find him here, after all this was his brothers camp, but she hadn't spared him a thought and after what felt like little more than forced captivity the last thing she wanted to do was sit in the presence of one she could think only of as a boorish ass. Her spine stiffened at the memory of when last they'd met filled her head, it was the evening the Northmen had returned from conquering Princess Kwenthrith usurping uncle. That night his manners had been coarse and his gaze startlingly direct, it wasn't the first time she'd known a man watched her, but his gaze when she'd found it on her had been different. Almost proprietary. Still she'd done rather well outwardly ignoring him till princess Kwenthrith approached her and whispered in her ear, "I think you have an admirer princess." Her voice laced with innuendo and suggestion, she pulled back smiling that mad smile of hers and announced she preferred the other brother.

And at the moment his presence here coupled with that memory only added to the mixture of chaotic emotions rolling inside her, the embarrassment she had felt over the Mercian princess's comment came rushing back and her cheeks reddened. She lifted her chin, refusing just as she had that night to allow her discomfort to show and she stepped forward. Her mind traveled back to their first encounter as she walked one she doubted he remembered as close to death as he was. She'd only been in Wessex a short time when the Northmen returned for what she understood was the second time and she'd been in the makeshift infirmary that afternoon after the battle, helping the physician monk as he tended the others. She'd watched them carry in the large stranger and placed him the bed that in her mind had looked far too small of a man of his size. They'd told her to stay away from him and she had, but she'd also been surprised by this example of the fearsome Norsemen. After all the stories of their superhuman strength and the fearless way they fought she'd expected more than the man she saw. Something more akin to Beelzebub himself was what she expected, even though she knew it was impossible, horns, a forked tongue and tail.

She'd also been there and watched from a distance as he'd tried to strangle Athelstan, the malice in the tone of his foreign words and marking his pale, pasty features had alarmed her till she observed long enough to see that no matter the rage inside him his injuries hadn't left him with the strength to harm the man. Shed watched this mans gaze trail after the monk as he left, his eyes full of bloodlust and rage, then he'd looked at her, but only for a second before he had fallen back on his cot.

Noticing the change in Rollo's demeanor Lagertha followed the direction if his gaze, not surprised to find Allana standing there. "Join us," she offered, watching as she moved out of the shadow and toward them. "You must be hungry Princess." Lagertha stated as Allana reached them, smiling slightly when she met her gaze again.

Rollo watched as she stepped forward, despite the growing fogginess of his mind he noticed she wore that same demeanor she'd worn the night he met her, her spine stiff, chin slightly elevated. His eyes stayed on her as she stepped more fully into the light, his gaze drifting down her. The night he met her came back to him in vibrant images. King Ecberts hall. Seeing her, being pleased he was attracted to her. Her, tall and slender, with long dark hair, dark blue eyes and soft looking lush lips.

He remembered finding the evidence of her frigid demeanor slightly amusing, deciding he'd rather his attractive future wife have that personality than look on him with fear. Fool, his mind whispered as he remembered his thoughts of thawing her coolness in other ways.

The memories seemed to mock him at the moment, just as her presence in the camp did since she'd arrived and that along with the growing effect of the mushroom sent anger rushing through him again.

* * *

Flocki held back in hidden in the shadow of a tree not far off, his right shoulder resting against its trunk, his right knee bent to the side so his foot crossed his ankle, watching. His gaze on the small group of people outside the Princess's tent, he'd come this way in search of his wife and found her in the company of the Princess and others. Helga had grown increasingly distant since Athelstans death, he was certain she suspected it was he who had killed the priest. It was him, but he'd yet to tell her, she wouldnt understand none of them really understood.

He tried to speak with Ragnar about the Princess earlier as he'd walked away after telling them all she was staying in the camp.

Ragnars fascination with her kind was why Odin was turning his back on them; it was why so many of them had died yesterday. The Gods were angry with them all for Ragnar allowing the priest to stay among them, for making treaties and alliances with Christian kings, for fighting in battles that didn't belong to their own people. He'd told Ragnar that if he allowed her to stay here he'd only anger the gods more, reminding him what her uncle had done to their people, but as always Ragnar was uncaring. He had merely given him that look that said said, he didn't care for or want his council. But then FLocki had understood what the gods wanted him too. It wasn't for Ragnar to make amends for their people it was for him to do, he understood the Gods better than Ragnar, she'd been captured to atone for the slaughter of their own people.

* * *

Rollo shifted on his stump anger boiling inside him, still harder as he watched her eat, remembering others points of that night. Ecbert made a fool of you. A voice in his head whispered.

He let you watch her, think she was yours.

His body tightened at the memory, his hand tightening around his mug, As the voice whispered to him again. He didn't even tell you; he told Ragnar. It's always Ragnar first. The anger coiling his body tighter and his blood began pumping in his ears at the last thought, his grip tightened on the thin horn mug in his hand more and he felt it begin to crack. Maybe Ragnar knew the voice said tauntingly.

The anger and humiliation he'd felt in that moment washed over him as his gaze bore into her.

He wanted her to look at him. Shed acknowledged everyone sitting there but him. Looked directly each one of them, the closest she came to even being aware of his presence since their eyes had met earlier was a watchful glance or two out of the corner of her eye and that enraged him more.

She knew. She laughed at you, the voice whispered.

She is laughing at you now.

Still not done the voice said she looked at Ragnar. The last pushed the anger and rage building inside him over the edge.

She spoke to Lagertha and he stood abruptly, the stump he had been sitting on toppling under the force of the action and he stumbled slightly, his heart pounding against his rib's, he stood towering over her and she looked at him.

Allana sat there growing increasingly uneasy under his gaze, she hadn't looked directly at him and probably wouldn't have spared him even a glance from the corner of her eye if it wasn't for the tension radiating from him, it seemed to grow as she sat there, becoming tangible as he watched. She wished someone would speak, but all seemed oblivious to him but her: comfortable in the silence surrounding them, unable to sit there any longer in the growing silence, wishing didn't feel quite so all alone, she asked Lagertha the first question that came to mind, "where is Athelstan?"

Startled, Allana's eyes shot away from Lagertha to him when he moved, her gaze first landing on the broad expanse of his chest, it quickly traveled upward, over his broad shoulders, thick neck to his face. The firelight played across his harsh feature's and made the look in his eyes more frightening than it might have been otherwise, adding an extra aire of menace to his towering frame. Her heart pounded, her body tensed as their gazes held and she couldn't look away. He took one step toward her and Lagertha's spoke, "Rollo?" She said questioningly, he didn't acknowledge the other woman's words, only continued to stare at Allana before, his body shifted and he began to step forward again and Lagertha stood herself, but this time it was Bjorn that spoke saying Uncle as he stood as well.

Rollo heard Lagerthas voice, but ignored it, staring down into the Princess's wide eyed, nervous gaze instead as the angry energy coursing through his body tightened it more, he dropped the cup he'd held in his hand as he took one more step toward her. He saw fear slip onto her features as Bjorn spoke. "Uncle." Rollos gaze bore into hers a moment more than left her, shifting to his nephew. The worried, questioning look on Bjorns face, brought some sense of reason back to him and his heart rate slowed slightly.

Lagertha watched Rollo look at Bjorn, after he'd spoke, her tense body relaxing slightly, when she saw some of the tension leave Rollo as well, he didn't look at any of them again just turned and walked away. Her eyes stayed on his retreating back, after a momemt her gaze shifted and passed over the others briefly, noticing their confused gazes on him, then traveled to Allana to find her own attention back on his back as well, her face ashen. She had been aware he'd watched the Princess from the moment she walked out of the tent, his mood seeming to darken in the relatively short amount of time since that moment. But what had warranted what she'd just witnessed she couldn't say. If they hadn't been here, she wasn't so certain what he would have done. Her gaze continued to drift over Allanas profile a moment more as she pondered it.


	8. Chapter 5

**So I managed to get another chapter finished and posted much sooner than I had planned! But it could be another three or four weeks before the next chapters up. I have a lot of things going on right now and I am going to be out of town for two weeks.**

**And as always thanks for all the support with this story, the reviews, faves and follows are why I keep writing!**

**And a special thanks to my Denmark friend! If it wasn't for you I never would have got this done!**

* * *

Allana sat, heart pounding painfully in her chest, gaze on his back, unable to look away, watching as he began to melt into the shifting shadows of the camp. The fear that had swamped her as he'd abruptly stood and held her limbs frozen as she'd held his gaze, lessened as she watched his tall frame disappear altogether. Her gaze stayed on the spot she'd last seen him for several moments, after he was no longer visible, confusion and disbelief setting in. Her uncooperative mind questioning: "What had just happened?" She softly said "What?"

She shifted on her seat, suddenly remembering she wasn't alone. Silence had settled heavily in the air around her, so heavy in fact it rang in her ears. Her gaze shifted toward Lagertha who stood looking down at her, from a few feet away; the perplexed look on her face leaving Allana to think she no more understood what had just happened, than Allana did herself. Her gaze shifted from Lagertha back to where he'd disappeared for just a moment, as the initial fear caused from his actions revisited her, and she remembered his outburst with vivid clarity for just a moment. Her heartbeat picked up once more, thudding heavily against her ribs and her body tightened with the memory, a shiver passing across her skin. Allana dropped her gaze again, staring at the dancing shadows created by the play of firelight on the ground, as her mind tried to make sense of it all again. Thankfully one of her companions spoke, finally breaking the silence.

It was the tall one who wore his dark hair long, like many of the other men of his people that had spoken and drew her gaze. Seconds later Ragnar's son replied, but her nerves were too chaotic to even try and make sense of the words that followed. Lagertha spoke drawing her attention back to her as she sat; the words had nothing to do with the beast that had just walked off. "I'm sorry Princess, Athelstan is dead." She said softly, answering the question Allana had asked before his outburst.

The words startled Allana enough to bring her out of her remaining shock, she'd felt only to replace itself with another kind of shock than disbelief. Her eyes snapped to Lagertha's, the woman's gaze was filled with genuine sorrow as she held Allana's.

Allana merely stared at her for a moment, holding her eyes as she tried to absorb the words that were just spoken to her. After a moment she asked "What?" That question quickly followed by two others. "How? What happened?" Holding her gaze directly Lagertha continued, "He was found dead a month ago."

Allana's eyes trailed down Lagertha's face, as an image of Judith and her child filled her head and her stomach instantly turned, coiling tightly. After a moment her gaze came back to Lagertha's and she asked, "How did he die?"

"Someone slit his throat." Color draining from her face, Allana sat motionless, staring unseeingly at the blonde woman, as this new twist in the tail, she'd just been told sunk in.

Being told that he was murdered, was worse than being told he had died.

Neither the food on her trencher or conversation held interest to Allana, after Lagertha told her of Athelstan; she was having a hard enough time wrapping her mind around all the things that had happened today, but she was managing to handle them. But this? This was one thing too many.

Her feelings as far as Athelstan was concerned, had at best been conflicted of late. He hadn't been the same man she'd met, nearly two years ago when she'd first come to Wessex. When she'd first met him he'd been withdrawn and uncertain, keeping to himself unless he was summoned, the odd relationship they had developed as the result of her pestering and searching him out.

He had returned to England a different man; worldlier and unafraid, confident in himself. She hadn't reflected on the change she'd seen in him when he first returned, even though, it was marked, she'd just been glad to see him once more, not realizing how deeply those changes ran.

Her cousin's wife hadn't been forthcoming or told Allana of her feelings as far as Athelstan was concerned, but the tension had been as obvious as the pair's meaning filled glances. While his behavior and his attention to Judith hadn't set well with her, she'd kept her own council and like people so often did in those types of situations, turned a blind eye.

What had changed how she felt about him initially was the sacrifice. He hadn't looked upon the pagan display with the same horror as herself and the others; he'd watched it as if it was the most common place of activities, as they'd cut the cows neck then dumped the blood over Lagertha and soaked the freshly planted fields in it as well. That had opened her eyes to the knowledge that he was no longer a man of God. If she hadn't witnessed that change in him, no matter how he'd behaved she'd never have suspected he was the father or Judith child.

Despite her confused feeling's for her one time friend, Lagertha's words delivered the final heavy blow in a day that consisted of only those. She had handled being woke up almost before the sun to be commanded back to Paris at the Emperor's behest. She had handled watching those innocent men die, because they'd been sent for her; she could even handle being bound and thrown back on a horse, and answering questions about the fate of Ragnar's people in Wessex, as well as his brother's frightening outburst, and the news of Athelstan's death in itself, along with her own questions about what King Ragnar would do, if he suspected what she suspected, but she couldn't handle thoughts of Judith. Specifically how she'd feel when the news reached her.

Lagertha watched Allana as she returned to her tent a short time later, her gaze drifting down the Princess's back. The girl had had a horrible day, bullied, and bruised in both spirit and pride no doubt. She appeared to handle it all remarkably well, including Rollo's outburst until she'd told her about Athelstan, within minutes she'd dismissed herself. Apparently that was cue for the others to do the same; first Helga rose bidding them all goodnight, and then Kalf. Lagertha stood, readying to leave herself, but paused meeting her son's gaze, she spoke, "Make sure you stay close" her voice and gaze heavy with meaning.

Allana entered the tent quickly, glad for the protection from prying eyes it afforded her, she crossed the space between her, and the pile of furs she had slept on earlier, setting down she found the weight of the day began taking its toll. Part of her wishing she hadn't slept the afternoon away, she sighed heavily. Reaching up and running her hands through her hair, as she gazed into the glowing coals remaining in the fire pit.

The news of Athelstan's death weighed heavy on her mind, as did thoughts of Judith. In ways his death could be seen as a blessing, as horrible as thinking it made her feel. It was best for Judith, her baby and inasmuch as she knew Judith loved Athelstan, he wasn't her husband; Aethelwulf was, and he had suffered for his wife's actions, in some ways every bit as much as she had. Yes they'd barbarically tortured Judith, and Allana didn't agree with it anymore now than she did then, but Aethelwulf was being forced to look at her every day and raise another man's child as his own, but worse than that his own father saw it as a blessing. A shudder passed down her spine at the thought.

As the hours ticked slowly by and Allana sat there alone, her only companion, her apparently over active mind, the camp fell asleep beyond the walls of her tent and the silence awakened more thoughts and memories. Her mind jumped from one aspect of yesterday to another, sometimes lingering on one for a few a moments other times not, but it seemed to always circle back to thoughts Judith and her baby. Eventually as she sat there those thoughts woke other memories: old ones.

Long ago, at the hands of her husband she'd learned to protect herself and control her emotions, the state of affairs surrounding her father at his death had made her stronger still, but tonight she found it hard and once the old memories began they wouldn't stop. They wove themselves into the events of the day, and weighted her down more.

Dogal's treatment of her had taught her some harsh lesson, but before then in her naïveté; before his constant disregard and need to debase her had left its buried scars, and a need to protect herself, she'd thought if she had a child it would all somehow be better. In the beginning in her youth and innocence she'd endeavored to please him, trying her hardest to make sure his needs were met and be a dutiful wife. She had seen only one thing: Dogal was a man and her husband, and it was her responsibility to give him children. But with time when no children came, she'd learned to offer thanks to God for her apparent barren state. And as horrible as it may sound to others; thoughts of Judith and her child made her thankful again.

Allana couldn't imagine what her life would have become if they'd conceived. If she'd had a son, Dogal's family would never have let her go after his death; a male child would have been the heir to her father's throne, and she herself would have been tied to their whims as would the child.

* * *

Rollo rolled over the next morning, with a mouth tasting of filth, his mood little improved from what it had been last night. He sat up on his makeshift bed, the soft fur slipping against his bare chest, his eyes traveling around the dimly lit interior of the tent. Focusing briefly on the dust moots that floated in the shaft of gray light shining through the hole in the center of the roof. From outside the noise of the camp coming to life could be heard. But it only made the long day stretched out before him with little do, besides wait for his brother to play this game of waiting with the Franks even less appealing.

As he sat there, he wasn't unaware that yesterday morning, the idea of waiting hadn't been nearly as frustrating, but this morning recent events had left him instantly feeling annoyed. His mind shifted fully to the last decision his brother had made, and his mood darkened still more as an image of her yesterday, as she rode into camp filled his mind. Ragnar had made the decision to keep her here, for reason's he hadn't fully shared, Ragnar wasn't the sharing type; he did what he did, and expected them all to follow along as always; and normally Rollo would, but this time it wasn't so easy. Anger shifted through him quickly, tightening his body, he still wanted to know why she was here. And felt after everything that had happened he deserved one. He knew only the little Ragnar had told him, which wasn't much, in normal circumstances it would have been enough. But he didn't want her here. The constant reminder of being played a fool and all he'd lost that she was he wanted her gone, but Ragnar would have his way.

His gaze shifted from the shaft of light to his clothing lying discarded on the floor not far away, leaning over he reached for it. He pulled on his tunic first, his anger growing, as he yanked the coarse wool over his head, and stood putting on his trousers next.

Her presence mocked him, taunting him with its very existence in camp, and Ragnar would allow it to happen; would expect him to go along. It didn't matter how disrespectful Ecbert's action toward him had been either as always Rollo would be expected to accept Ragnars decision and keep his opinion to himself. Contempt marked his features, as he walked towards the makeshift table in the center of the room; remembering her hauteur, and the way she'd ignored his presence last night. A look of dark satisfaction slipped onto his face mingling with the contempt, as he thought about the change in her demeanor when she'd finally looked at him.

She hadn't been quite so haughty and prideful then.

* * *

**The Next Day**

* * *

The arrival of the small company of Frankish soldiers in camp wasn't really a surprise to Ragnar; he'd known eventually it would happen; actually he had counted on it. That was one of the reasons he'd allowed things to happen as they had; giving the others a chance to set their plans in motion suspecting they would all fail. He'd known that if he wanted to take the city a siege wouldn't do it: not alone, it was only one part in a much larger scheme. So he hadn't been surprised when the company arrived, he was however slightly surprised to find Sinric, the wanderer who had originally given him the sunstone and board that helped them travel east, in their company. Ragnar had brought the man to Frankia with him for his knowledge of the language and the country, when he had disappeared the night the others stormed the gates, Ragnar had thought him dead.

The Franks now held him prisoner and had brought him here to deliver the message that Count Odo, the defender of the city as Sinric referred to him, was ready to speak terms; it was what Ragnar had foreseen. What he hadn't foreseen however, was his brother and son talking for him, despite his annoyance with the situation he'd sat back and watched patiently as Rollo basically laughed in the man's face and purposely tried to intimidate him, standing offensively close and glowering down and as Bjorn addressed the subject of the proposed meeting tomorrow.

The soldier finally spoke for himself after Bjorn declared they'd tell them in the morning if they wanted to speak terms, drawing everyone's gaze, moments later Sinric translated. "He wishes to see the Princess you have among you." Silence followed the request, all eyes except Rollo's turned toward Ragnar, as he looked from one face to the next, waiting to see if anyone would choose to speak for him now as well. After a moment he stood, his eyes drifting over the scene before him. Pain radiating through his body, made his breath catch as he gained his feet slowly.

Stepping carefully forward Ragnar asked, a slight smile tugging at his lips, "What reason could he have for wanting to see her?"

His eyes drifting from Sinric to Rollo in the place he'd occupied close to the Frankian soldier, his tall broad frame towering over the much smaller man, before his gaze settled on the Frank himself.

The wanderer translated Ragnar's words and the man spoke again. "She was traveling to Paris when your men captured her, and he wishes to see that she hasn't suffered."

Ragnar's glowing blue gaze speared the darker man's for a moment, a look of amused contemplation on his face as he observed him. The man held Ragnar's direct gaze unflinchingly as he waited. After a moment more Ragnar spoke to no one in particular, "Fetch the Princess"

Allana spent the last day and a half virtually alone. The solitude and isolation had only heightened and fed the feeling of captivity she felt, the hours ticking by with unbearable slowness. The few times she had ventured outside yesterday, King Ragnar's son, whose name she had finally remembered as Bjorn, always seemed to be nearby. Despite the respect he showed her or his quiet ways and willingness to help her with whatever she needed, he felt like a jailer. But at least they'd been able to communicate enough between both their limited understanding of the others language that she wanted a bucket of water. Unfortunately what she really wanted besides water to wash with was the satchel she'd carried with her; attached to the saddle, when she'd left the Abbey, she packed a change of clothing in it before she'd left along with her circlet, she'd contemplated trying to express that want as well, but decided she'd wait till she saw his mother again.

The only blessing she could find in her isolation, was that she hadn't seen Ragnar's brother again, but it still irritated her, and angered her and left her feeling caged, and her thoughts consumed her. A feeling of dread had swamped her by times and was present now, as she hurriedly follwed the same dark haired woman that had shown her to her tent two days ago, through the camp. She had no idea why she'd been sent for, the only words she had understood as the message was delivered, were come and King Ragnar.

Rollo maintained his place near the Frank, glowering at him until he saw the man's expression change, and he turned as she was led into the circle of people. Rollo's gaze instantly sought her face and her eyes met his briefly, just long enough for the weary expression on her face to grow, before they shifted to the man beside him. The apprehensive expression she wore froze on her face for a moment then was replaced with relief, as she held the smaller man's gaze; the look on her face fueled his irritation more. He stepped back as she continued to approach, her gaze holding the Frankish soldiers.

"My lady?" Roland said in askance as he stepped forward, his concerned gaze running down her person. The already tense atmosphere grew more so as several Norse hands went to their sword hilts, drawing his gaze and staying his steps, hers eyes however stayed on him and watched as his own hand reflexively went to his weapon.

His gaze shifted to the right, she didn't need to look to know who stood close by, but her gaze followed Roland's anyway. She was aware that Bjorn stood near his uncle, but it wasn't the younger man that held her attention for a moment, it was older. Her heartbeat picked up and her already present anxiousness grew, as she watched the two men stare at each other. A look meant to intimidate marked the taller man's face; an air of violence clung to him and for a moment a vision of the way he'd looked at her two nights past filled her head, her already beating heart pounded harder against her ribs, a chill sweeping down her spine.

"Are you well my lady?" It was Roland who broke the tension drawing her attention back to him.

"Yes," she began, careful to keep the apprehension coursing through her body, from her voice as well as refusing the impulse those words sent through her, to look at the brute standing at his side again instead her gaze shifted from him to King Ragnar, who watched her with an expectant look on his face. "I am safe here Sir Roland, they won't harm me." She began again after a moment, but the words felt like a lie the moment she uttered them. The feeling sticking with her as she held Ragnar's piercing gaze.

Ragnar interrupted whatever may have been said next, she picked a word here and there as he spoke and then the small, ugly man she'd only just now noticed standing beside Roland translated as her eyes drifted over his homely features. "King Ragnar says the Princess is fine as he said she was, and now you can go." Roland gaze shifted from the small man to Ragnar, as if he wanted to say more, but a movement beside him drew his attention again. Her heart began hammering against her ribs once more, as she watched uncertain. He stepped directly in front of Roland, his much larger frame hiding the Frank almost completely from her view. The Apprehension that had woven its way through her body, tightened her stomach more as he moved pulling a knife from his belt and he spoke, his voice dark and menacing. The odd little man translated once more, drawing her attention from Rollo's broad back. "He says you've seen the Princess, now you can go."

Roland stared up at the taller man, holding his gaze, as unwilling to back down as he. Neither Count Odo or the Emperor held much concern for the foreign Princess, he'd naively expected them to ask she be let go, but they hadn't been concerned, and when Roland mentioned her himself he'd been met with scorn, impatience and hint of annoyance the latter coming from the Emperor himself. The Emperor's response had been thus, "Is she not the niece and ward of King Ecbert of Wessex?" He hadn't given Roland a chance to reply the affirmative simply said condescendingly, "They won't harm the niece of their ally." In his opinion a heathen camp was no place for a Christian woman, Princess or otherwise, but it didn't seem the Emperor or the Count shared his view, nor did it seem to matter that the reason she was in a position to be caught in the first place was the Emperor. Never mind his own failure in protecting her after he'd promised he would, he'd been knocked from his horse and hit his head passing out, then woken up to find the others soldiers he'd traveled with dead, and her gone.

The tension was palpable as the two men stood motionless staring at one another, her gaze switched anxiously from Rollos broad back encased in leather covered plate armor to the King, stupidly hoping for an intervention of some sort. Ragnar's gaze burned with its normal light but remained impassive as he watched the two men. A movement drew her gaze back to them and she watched as Roland stepped back, his eyes sought her and their gazes held briefly, the look on his face and in his eyes conveyed plenty, as if saying he'd much rather take her with him than leave her here. He nodded slightly and turned, dragging the bound man with him.

Rollo continued to look down at the man as he moved, sidestepping him slightly, he knew who it was he looked at, his hand tightening around the blade he held in his hand. It was obvious there was some degree of acquaintance between them, and that coupled with the obvious hesitation he saw in the man's eyes as he looked at her, made his body tighten; his fist clenching the blade in his hand harder still. He turned his head slightly, just enough so he could see her in his peripheral vision, he didn't have to turn his head fully to see the look that passing between them. The Frank's gaze shifted back to him once more; their eyes met briefly before he looked at her one more time, and then turned leading the wanderer away with him. Rollo reached out grabbing the rope, cut it with his knife and placed a hand on Sinric's shoulder; he did it for no reason other than because he could.

Allana followed the woman, hearing King Rangers voice as he addressed the others, she cast one last look over her shoulder, hands fisted in the skirts of her ruined plum colored dress. The relief she's felt when they'd let Roland ride out of camp unscathed was quickly fading. Despite the words she'd spoken to him, telling him she was safe here, his departure left her feeling even more trapped and desperate. She wanted to turn around and chase after him, until he stopped and took her with him, but common sense and her feet kept her following the woman back to her tent.

After the Frank left, Ragnar verbally reprimanded them all; reminding them that it was he and none other that was king. It was he and he alone who called the shots and made the decisions. His brother's reminder that he was in control added to the already present irritation he felt, as if he'd ever once needed that reminder.

If he'd ever forgotten which he hadn't, Ragnar's decision to keep the Princess with them was the only reminder he would have needed. So he'd taken his anger and walked away, wanting no part of anyone in the camp; he'd walked to the river with his thoughts. And now as he stood looking out on the great walls of Frankia, they seemed to be challenging him just as her presence mocked him. She had disappeared again some time ago. It didn't seem to matter that she was out of sight, just as it hadn't since her arrival; he didn't need to be close to her to know she was there. The present image haunting him was of her with the Frank. There was a familiarity between them as they spoke their foreign words, and a concern in the smaller man's gaze that told of them knowing one another. He'd seen it in the relief mirrored in her gaze as well after Ragnar had sent for her. His right hand fisted tightly as the memory lingered, what were they to one another, some part of him wanted to know, but another part of him scoffed at his curiosity.

A stick snapped drawing his attention, and lightning fast he turned around, ready to beat anyone to a pulp who dare sneak up on him; a feat deemed almost impossible since coming to Paris. Instead of an enemy, he found himself face to face with Floki, whose eyes were crazed more than usual."Ah, Rollo, the mighty warrior, frightened by a rustling bush, you have become soft." Floki goaded as he came to stand next to him. Rollo merely turned around and faced the city again; silent. The man's sudden appearance irking him, nearly as much as his thoughts of the Princess and the soldier.

"I see your brother is consorting with a Christian whore. No doubt she's poisoning his mind as we speak, casting spells upon him and us to ensure another failure, just as Athelstan did to-"

"Not even you can be stupid enough to blame your failure on a dead man." Rollo interrupted, more agitated now than he was before Floki spoke; his tone holding an edge. He just wanted Floki to leave him alone.

"I'm looking out for our people. Since the monk came into our lives; Ragnar has been wavering in faith." Floki finished, glad to see that Rollo seemed to be paying attention to him now. In all honesty, Floki needed to right the wrong, to be in favor of the gods once more; they all did. Ragnar couldn't see it, but Floki could, their failed attempts to take the city were a judgment of the Gods. He understood now the Gods demanded more than Athelstan's death. With a flourish he continued, ready to hit the nail in the coffin. "The Gods are angry with us Rollo, but they have given us a way to atone. If we rid ourselves of this Christian witch; spill her blood, the gates to Paris will be opened.

Rollo had heard enough, Floki had rubbed him the wrong way, and although he didn't want her here, the thought of what Floki was suggesting, set his anger boiling. He turned quickly, glaring down at the leaner man and with voice that shook with restrained fury he said.

"Touch the Princess, and you'll have more than just the Gods' anger to fear"


End file.
